Atlas's Burden
by highgroundma
Summary: A lone Titan, Atlas, finds himself taken from his home after a freak occurrence sends him on a trip to a new universe where oversized toads run around with equally oversized shotguns. And now, as the Darkness rises to claim the Lightless civilizations of this new galaxy, Atlas must find the strength to surpass the legendary deeds of his predecessors.
1. Chapter 1

Drifting through the empty void of space was a Fallen Ketch, its engines sputtering like the breath of a man on Death's doorstep. Running along the Ketch's sides were deep grooves, the edges of each cut splintering outwards, as if sliced by a serrated edge. Flames danced along the breaches in the ship's hull, their sparks fed life by what little oxygen remained on the broken vessel. Even where the Ketch hadn't sustained such catastrophic damage, its plating was still battered and dented from decades of poor maintenance and a meager supply of the ether that the Fallen used as sustenance.

From a distance, engine dead and silent, a small, brown, one-man ship observed the wreckage currently orbiting Pluto's moon, Charon. On the starboard side of the ship, in scrolling, cursive font, were the words 'Quite Content Damsel'. Behind the cockpit, a lone Titan watched with mildly piqued curiosity. The paintjob on the Fallen Ketch marked it as belonging to the Fallen House of Exile, so it was no surprise to the Guardian that the craft was in shambles. No. What surprised the Guardian was the manner in which the Ketch had been destroyed: not by missiles or cannons, but by claws.

"Epsilon," the Titan rasped, his already low bass further deepened by his helmet's synthesizers. "Ever heard of anything like this before?" The flower shaped artificial intelligence hovered over to the cockpit, stopping next to the pilot's chair and gazing out at the titanic husk before them. As if attempting to raise an eyebrow, Epsilon raised his topmost "petal" as he appraised the scene.

"Well, Atlas, if we lived in a world of skyscraper sized monsters, I'd say that a someone hacked away at that Ketch with a sword. But, since we're not living in that kind of horribly grimdark setting, I can't even begin to guess at what took a swing at that ship." A moment of silence passed between the two occupants of the small ship as they pondered on the consequences of their discovery.

"I'm not picking up any comms chatter, but I am seeing significant residual energy trails leading away from the ship." Epsilon announced. "Whatever did this could still be around."

"We need to get back to the Tower," Atlas murmured, his eyes never leaving the Ketch. "We need to warn the Vanguard." But, even as he pegged the joystick to turn the Damsel around, away from the site of destruction orbiting Charon, the controls began to shake violently and klaxons blared in the cockpit. All over the instrument panel, red warning signals came to life, glaring menacingly at the pilot as he worked frantically to regain control of his ship.

"Energy spike! It's coming from the Ketch!" Epsilon shouted as he began flitting around the Damsel's engine room, attempting to transmat as much coolant as possible into the rapidly heating core.

Suddenly, in a flash of green and white, the Ketch imploded, the hull folding in on itself towards the center of the ship. Then, as the engines started to collapse, the fuel reserves went up in flames, resulting in an explosion that Atlas felt from a good ten thousand miles away. In response, several more warning signs popped up on the instrument panel bearing radiation symbols.

As the final strips of hull metal crumpled into the glowing, green ball where the Ketch had been only moments before, Atlas's eyes widened in surprise and recognition. It wasn't a glowing, green ball per se, but a sphere composed of pentagon shaped panels. It was a massive version of the Anomaly on the Moon.

"Epsilon," a sliver of trepidation was beginning to make its way into the Titan's normally stoic voice. "Are you seeing this?"

"Oh shit."

The panels of the Anomaly began to shudder, causing green waves of energy to cascade from its exterior towards the Damsel. Behind his sneering helmet, Atlas's grimaced and braced for impact, praying to the Traveler that he wouldn't be vaporized by the incoming surge of green energy. Like a tidal wave crashing against the shore, the energy surge sent the Damsel careening off to the side, flipping end over end as arcs of green lightning latched onto the ship.

Atlas's world was a miasma of blurry lights, hangover level noises, and vomit as he fought to regain control of his ship. Five spins and a good deal of shouting later, the arcs of energy attached to the ship began to swing the Damsel around back towards the Anomaly, throwing Atlas into the starboard side of the cockpit. The metal creaked dangerously, but held up against the weight of the fully armored Titan pressed against it.

Atlas hastily righted himself and fell into the pilot's chair, sighing in relief as the vomit inducing spinning came to a stop and the Damsel simply drifted along towards the Anomaly. When the body racking nausea had left his body, Atlas righted himself in his seat and released the seals on his helmet before removing it and placing it next to him.

"Good to see that you're feeling better, but we've got another problem." His Ghost reappeared next to his Guardian's head, only slightly shaken from the rollercoaster-esque motions that the Damsel had just been put through. The engine room was another story: a multitude of Ghost sized dents covered the walls of the room from top to bottom. "I'm reading a steady increase in energy levels from that thing. Oh, and our engines are dead. I can't restart them."

"Then it looks like we'll just have to wait and see what happens." Atlas stared out at the Anomaly, licking his lips nervously as they were dragged helplessly towards the source of their current predicament. The Anomaly sat innocently in front of the ice covered moon, as if it hadn't just imploded a Fallen Ketch and put the Damsel through a roller coaster simulation.

Without warning, the tendrils of lightning connecting the Damsel to the Anomaly flared brightly, momentarily blinding Atlas, whose helmet polarized almost instantly in response. Groaning in protest, the Damsel began to pick up speed as it neared the freak occurrence in front of them. The Guardian ship came in off to the Anomaly's side, accelerating at a rate that caused the Titan's teeth to rattle in his skull. Not wanting to accidentally bite off his tongue, Atlas closed his mouth shut and gripped the arms of the pilot's chair for dear life as the Damsel sped up.

"There's more energy building up in that thing than there is energy in the entire City." Epsilonwas fluttering around the cockpit in what could be described as nervous dashes from one end of the instrument panel to the other.

As the Damsel came up alongside the Anomaly, green light washed over the cockpit, blotting the stars out of the Guardian's sight. Atlas had faced down Atheon, Crota, Skolas, and the most powerful Guardians that the Crucible had to offer, both in the Iron Banner and the Trials of Osiris. But, never before had he felt such overwhelming dread. Cursed was he with the knowledge that there was nothing he could do. No enemy to fight, no obstacle to overcome. He was at the mercy of an unknown entity, drifting along in a ship with dead engines.

It wasn't a particularly glorious way to go out, considering his past achievements, but the Titan had little time to reflect on his more notable victories. Nausea was beginning to overtake him again, and the edges of his vision began to blur. As if coaxed shut by a silent lullaby, Atlas's eyes closed and he slumped over in his chair as unconsciousness took him.

"The Darkness is coming back. We will not survive it this time."

"I don't even have time to explain why I don't have time to explain."

"My service to the Queen is... complicated, Guardian."

"Evil so dark, it despises other evil."

"So... think you can kill a god?

"I've seen terrible things born out in the Darkness. Every moment brings them closer."

"We've woken the Hive!"

"YOU TOOK MY SON!"

"Be brave, Guardian."

"Eyes up, Guardian."

Slowly, consciousness returned to Atlas as Epsilon repeated the words that the Titan had first heard at the start of his second life. Blinking groggily, Atlas sat up straight in his chair and took in the unfamiliar view from the Damsel's cockpit. Instead of the sight of the Anomaly sitting in front of the icy moon, Charon, a sleek, gun lined frigate that dwarfed the Guardian ship stood in its place. But, even through the alien craft was many times larger than the Damsel, it was nowhere near as large as a Fallen Ketch, which Atlas took as a slightly reassuring sign.

"Epsilon," Atlas grunted. "Where are we?" Even with the frigate taking up most of his view, he could still make out the distinct spherical shape of a planet in the distance.

"Definitely not in the Sol system," the Ghost replied. "I think... that we might even be beyond the Darkness itself."

"Is that possible?"

"I'm not sure. But, there's a first for everything."

Atlas' mind churned with a multitude of clashing thoughts, each one more hopeful and dreadful than the last. A place with no Darkness meant a place of limitless possibilities: No dark gods of the Hive, no galaxy-spanning Cabal legions, no reviled Fallen houses, and no time meddling Vex. But, what was he without his adversaries. He was a Titan, a warrior reborn to fight Humanity's endless war against the minions of the Darkness. And now, absent of the presence of his fated enemies, his oaths, sworn before the Titan Lords and the Speaker himself, were effectively annulled.

A sharp chill began to slowly take hold his core as the enormity of the situation gradually sank in. The sheer emptiness of his newfound revelation wrapped itself around his neck like one of the rusted, dilapidated anchors hanging uselessly from the sides of the ancient warships beached on the Forgotten Shore.

Epsilon, who had been eying his Guardian with a distressed gaze, broke Atlas out of his thoughts with a synthetic cough before turning back to the control panel.

"That ship's guns have got a solid lock on us, and their weapons are powering up. I won't be able to get us out of here before we get spaced."

"Think you can take those guns offline?" Atlas grunted.

"Can a Warlock do Quantum Mechanics in her head?" The construct countered.

"Erm, no?" As far as the Titan knew, only a few of the older Warlocks like Ikora, Osiris, and Toland were obsessive enough to actually acquire a skill like that.

"Hey!"

"Just get hacking, Little Light." Ever since meeting the Exo Stranger in the ruins of the Ishtar Collective, Atlas had grown partial to the enigmatic Exo's nickname for his Ghost.

"..."

Epsilon pointedly ignored Atlas as he hopped into the frigate's comm traffic, piggybacking the frequency back into the ship's systems. After a moment of making strangled noises that sounded suspiciously like cackling, the floating AI turned back to its Guardian, shaking with the synthetic equivalent of laughter.

"Those firewalls went down faster than Rahool goes down on an engram." This outburst drew a brief chuckle from the Titan as his mind wandered back momentarily to the Awoken Cryptarch, a constant source of frustration for thousands of Guardians everywhere, Atlas included.

"Apparently," the Ghost continued. "these newcomers are called Batarians. I'm forwarding all of the immediately useful data on their species to your helmet now, but it might be worth reading through the rest of the 'Codex' that this information came from, later.."

"Right," Atlas grimaced at the prospect of reading up on xenos culture. "And what about the guns?"

"Oh, those went offline a few seconds ago, along with their comms and engines. From what I can gather, the ship's crew is on the verge of panicking."

"Good. Change of plans Epsilon. I'm going to board that ship and salvage what materials I can. Who knows if or when we'll find supplies anywhere else around here?" Said Atlas as he scrolled through the 'Codex' that his Ghost had forwarded to him, absorbing as much of the relevant tactical information on Batarians that he could. If the intel he was going on was correct, then this ship would have a sizable crew, and, considering the Batarians' militaristic tendencies, most of the crewmen would have had some combat experience.

"I could space the ship." Epsilon was looking at his Guardian with growing trepidation as Atlas drummed his fingers on his chair's armrest. Whenever the armor-clad Titan drummed his fingers, death and destruction were guaranteed to ensue.

"Not much of a challenge in that, is there?" Atlas snorted, anticipation gathering in his voice. "Where's the ship's CIC?"

"Towards the bow of the ship," the Ghost sighed, mentally picturing the next chapter in Atlas' book of unnecessarily perilous schemes. "There's an airlock not far from it."

Surging up from the pilot's chair, Atlas marched out of the cockpit and went to gather up his equipment from the mini vault near the airlock, on the left side of the ship. After punching in the four-digit passcode, the vault opened up to reveal a mismatched arsenal of weapons collected over the course of a century. The topmost rack of weapons was filled with primaries, from Commons to Exotics, hand cannons cannons to scout rifles. Below that, the special weapons, followed by the heavies at the very bottom.

From the scans that Epsilon had gotten on the frigate's infrastructure, it would be close quarters, with little room for maneuvering. Perfect. Atlas pulled the Invective from its place in the vault and glanced at the modifications that Banshee-44 had made for him just before the Titan had been sent out to investigate the Fallen Ketch orbiting Charon. A large, drum magazine was fastened to the underside of the weapon, and a massive, monomolecular bayonet was fixed to the gun just below the muzzle. These two mods had cost Atlas a good deal of Glimmer to get Banshee to attach. The Exo gunsmith had also extracted an oath from his customer to never let Ikora see her former weapon in its modified state.

After clamping the Invective to the mag lock on the back of his armor, Atlas grabbed the First Curse and fastened it to the side of his right thigh. Unlike Ikora Rey's signature weapon, there were few flashy upgrades or attachments on the high-caliber hand cannon. That had mostly been Banshee's prerogative, and Atlas hadn't been in the mood to try and convince the ancient gunsmith otherwise.

The golden armored Titan gazed hesitantly at the bottom rack of weapons, where the heavies sat. Obviously, a rocket launcher was out of the question, but that still left nearly a dozen machine guns under consideration. A surge of blue lightning from the corner of the rack caught his eye, and he reached down and removed the Thunderlord from its rest. The massive, Arc infused war machine was a familiar weight in Atlas' hands, and its elegant stock nestled snugly in the crook of his armpit.

Now, with his chosen armaments in hand, Atlas resealed the vault and stepped into the airlock, shutting the reinforced metal door behind him. As he waited for the room to depressurize, the Guardian brought up the Codex information on Batarian tactics and skimmed through the files. Standard fare pirates whose boarding tactics were analogous to Fallen raiding parties. He stopped on the information regarding their weapons, or more specifically, the technology behind their weapons.

Instead of firing a slug fed from an external magazine, the Batarians' weapons fired miniscule metal grains from an internal ammo block at supersonic speeds. The result was a weapon that, with sufficient heat dissipation, had a theoretically infinite supply of ammo. But, aside from that interesting tidbit, Atlas wasn't overly impressed with their potential for destruction. Their average, military grade weapons packed the same punch as the rifles issued by the Gunsmith to younger Guardians, and their more advanced armaments were about on par with Legendary weapons, but nothing even came close to Exotic tier.

Over the course of the hundred years that Atlas had lived through as a Guardian, he had fired almost every weapon known to humankind since the Collapse. He had fired rocket launchers with the yield to level a small town, and he had wielded sniper rifles with the stopping power to take the head clean off of a Cabal Valus. Very few weapons, be they exotic or otherwise, could impress the battle hardened Titan anymore.

"Depressurization complete." Epsilon's voice chimed in over their comms. Atlas observed the distance between his ship and the exposed airlock on the Batarians' before making a quick mental calculation. Pursing his lips, he lifted off into the emptiness between the two ships, maneuvering the cold vacuum of space with the use of the Light-infused thruster packs built into his armor.

As his body drifted towards the Batarian frigate, Atlas found himself marvelling at the feeling of weightlessness that had settled in his limbs. Even with his amount of experience, most, if not all of his battles had been fought on solid ground. The few times he had fought in zero-gee environments had been during the campaign to retake Mars, where he and his fireteam had boarded a crippled Sky Burners capital ship and assassinated the Valus onboard.

Atlas' reminiscing came to an abrupt stop as he landed with a solid thunk on the side of the frigate, his armor absorbing the impact. While with one hand the Titan gripped a small crevice near the airlock, his other hand busied itself by nurturing a spark of Solar Light to life. He now held in his hand the beginnings of a Fusion Grenade, albeit one formed by the Light of a Titan who had struck down two gods of the Hive pantheon. So, when he let loose the pent of ball of Solar Light, the results were devastating.

The airlock was engulfed in a wave of harsh, orange flames that ate away at the metal bulkhead, creating a jagged hole in the side of the frigate. As the entryway depressurized, Gouts of fire and recycled oxygen rushed outwards from the newly created entrance, pushing Atlas to the side as he clung to the ship for dear life. Gaining a firmer grip on his handhold, the Titan swung himself into the breach, drawing the First Curse as he did so. From what the 3-D holographic map at the left hand corner of his HUD read, he had landed in a hallway just outside of the CIC. A quick scan of his immediate surroundings detected no hostiles present, and he turned to the reinforced door that stood between him and the Batarians on the other side.

"Let me get this," Epsilon chirped as it materialized into existence next to Atlas's shoulder. "I can't let you have all of the fun." Within seconds the hack was complete, and the Ghost gave a wink to its Guardian before transmatting itself back to the Damsel. With a hiss, the door to the CIC slid open to reveal the bridge crew to the Titan.

They stood in a ring formation along the hologram dotted walls of the room. All of the four-eyed aliens carried either a pistol or an assault rifle, though the Captain, who was standing on a raised platform in the middle of the room, carried some kind of bulky shotgun. They were all lightly armored, Atlas noted, though he knew from his brief read-through of the Codex that each of them was most likely equipped with a kinetic barrier. Then again, a kinetic barrier was little use against a master crafted, high impact hand cannon.

The First Curse bucked in his hand as he fired at the nearest Batarian, who was standing right in front of the entrance. The Batarian, who seemed rather shocked at the Titan's sudden and unexpected entrance, scrambled to bring its weapon up from resting position. And, as the oversized bullet impacted the pirate's kinetic barrier, Atlas observed the brief widening of its four eyes as the xenos saw its protection shatter under the single shot. However, the bullet's momentum had not been hampered by the kinetic barrier, and it continued to travel through the unfortunate one's head in a shower of gore and grey matter.

Seeing the death of their fellow seemed to break the rest of the bridge crew out of their stupor, and Atlas found himself weathering a storm of gunfire. Despite the brutal effect that such a crossfire should have had on a single infantry target, the Light infused armor that adorned the Titan kept him safe from harm. He stood there for a moment, watching, but not worrying as his shields flickered under the barrage, the sheer strength of his Light absorbing the incoming damage. Even in the unlikely event that his shields were downed by projectiles that were absent of either Light or Darkness, Atlas trusted in his war gear, forged by the legendary smiths in service to the Iron Lords.

However, as dictated by the Titan Codex, exposing oneself to enemy fire when there are alternatives is foolish. And so, Atlas dashed forwards to the corpse of the dead Batarian in front of the door and, grasping it around the neck, lifted it in front of him as an impromptu shield. Atlas's newly found meat shield jerked violently as it accepted the bullets of its comrades with squishy thuds. Now, not having to worry about taking damage anymore, the Titan extinguished the lives of three more Batarians with three, fluid headshots.

Suddenly, Atlas's meat shield was blown apart as the discharge of a shotgun came from the center of the room where the ship's Captain still stood. Making a split second decision, Atlas flung the remainder of his fleshy cover at the Captain, who flinched in disgust as the body landed on top of him, its entrails fluttering wildly. Taking advantage of the brief reprieve that he had created, Atlas holstered his hand cannon and readied the Invective. With a brief glance around the room, he counted another five crew members remaining, the entangled Captain not included.

Hardly had a fraction of a second passed when Atlas finished formulating his next move. Tensing his legs, the Titan crossed the distance between himself and the shotgun wielding officer, who had only just managed to free himself from the corpse of his former subordinate. If the Captain had had any prior experience with charging Titans, he would have known in that instance that he was being presented with two options: move, or be moved. Unfortunately for the Batarian, he had no such knowledge.

The force of impact behind Atlas's charge was visceral, to say the least. All of the momentum generated by several hundred pounds of muscle and armor moving at a dead sprint was sufficient to shatter nearly every bone in the Batarian's body. But, the momentum transfer did not stop there. Like when water balloons burst upon a hard surface, so too did the Captain's internal organs, which were flattened against the other inner workings of its anatomy. And, as Atlas ground to a halt, his heels digging into the floor for leverage, the Captain's body was sent flying into one of the remaining pirates, who tumbled to the deck with a grunt.

Seeing what had happened to the others and not wishing the same fate to befall themselves, the five remaining Batarians, minus the one attempting to free himself from the dead weight of his Captain, dropped their weapons at their feet and fell to their knees with their hands in the air. And thus, Atlas was stumped.

Never before in all of his many years, in all of his many battles, had the Titan ever had dealt with a surrendering enemy. There was nothing on this matter in any of the multiple Codices that served as the tenants of the Titan orders. Such was the nature of their sworn enemies that surrender was an entirely foreign concept to most Guardians in general. Atlas himself had only the basic understanding of what would happen next. Of course, he knew to appropriate his enemies' weapons, but after that...

"Did they just surrender?" Epsilon wondered, eyeing the prostrate Batarians with a quizzical eye as it reappeared on Atlas's shoulder.

"It would appear so." Atlas's stance had relaxed from combat posture to guarded, but he kept his shotgun trained on the surrendered, watching vigilantly for any foolish actions that the aliens might decide to perpetrate as they muttered amongst one another.

"Epsilon," he began, gesturing with his gun. "It might be helpful if I knew what they were saying."

"Oh, sorry about that. Updating your helmet's translation software now." A moment later. "And, it's done."

Now that Atlas could understand what the Batarians were saying in their hushed tones, he allowed himself a chuckle.

"That thing crushed the Captain like he was an insect. And his weapon! It overpowered Drathe's shields like they weren't even there."

"Do you think it's some kind of mutant Krogan?"

"No way. Do you see a hump anywhere?"

They were in awe of him; morbid awe, of course. And he couldn't blame them. It was that same way for many of the City's denizens when they bore witness to a Guardians' prowess in battle.

"Get up and stand back to back against each other in front of the Captain's console." Atlas's voice came out with a synthetic twinge to it as his words were converted to Batarian by his helmet's newly updated translation software.

Jolting at the armored behemoth's command and fearing the prospect of drawing the Titan's wrath, the pirates stood and walked to the designated spot where they assumed the correct formation. Not one dared to disobey his words. Not one so much as spared a glance at the strange, talking construct that hovered beside him.

"Now what?" Atlas grumbled, his question heard only by Epsilon due to the Titan having momentarily disabled his helmet's voice projector.

"Now, I guess we find some kind of bindings to hold them."

"If you're looking at me, then we're out of luck."

"Maybe we could ask them? They are pirates after all. I'm sure that they must use something to keep slaves."

Sighing, Atlas turned to one of the Batarians, he could hardly distinguish them apart from each other, and asked nonchalantly, "Cuffs?"

The Ghost descended into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at its Guardian's mannerisms. The Batarians however, perplexed by the absurdity of the question, remained silent.

"I'll ask again," Atlas said, his formerly relaxed tone turning steely as he shoved the Invective's barrel against the face of the Batarian he had singled out. "Do you have some form of bindings that I can secure you lot with? It's either that or I kill all of you here and now." He added once he saw the hesitance on the pirate's face.

"Alright, alright," the Batarian urged placatingly. "There's a bag of slave collars by the console on the far wall." One of the speaker's mates glared at him accusingly, to which he responded with a shrug. After all, their choices were between being fitted with explosive collars and being point-blanked by a shotgun.

Atlas moved to the far wall and picked up the bag, holding it open to examine its contents before making to fasten a collar around each of the Batarians. Also in the bag he found what could only be the detonator for the collars, which he mag clamped to his side.

"Follow my instructions, do nothing foolish, and you won't die. Understood?" He asked his prisoners, all of them looking much more subdued than before.

"Epsilon, access their star charts and plot a course to the nearest inhabited planet. We need a place to make repairs to the Damsel."

"Right," he confirmed as it began scanning the various holographic control panels around the CIC. "I've got one."

Atlas frowned at the data that his Ghost had just sent him. What was presented before him was not a planet, but an asteroid. An asteroid inhabited by crime syndicates and interstellar mercenary companies. It would do, he supposed. He could safely release his prisoners there and discover whether or not the raw materials required to make the repairs to his ship actually existed in this new location. That tangent sparked his curiosity, prompting him to ask Epsilon what damage the Damsel had even sustained.

"Well," the AI in question started hesitantly. "From what I can gather, the Damsel's electronics are fried and will need some replacement wires and recalibrations. Considering that the locals seems to have a handle on space flight, we shouldn't have a problem finding spare parts."

"What about integration? The tech that they're using can't be compatible with ours."

"If it comes down to that then I can always just try to adapt their technology. We should use our own Glimmer supply as a last resort. Who knows when we'll have a chance to resupply?"

Atlas, sufficiently satisfied by his synthetic companion's answer, turned back to the Batarians and, reactivating his voice projector, informed them of his destination and that they would be released once they arrived.

"Atlas," Epsilon questioned. "Are you sure it's a good idea to let these guys go once we get to Omega? For all we know, they could come back to cause trouble for us."

"What would you have me do? Space them?" The Titan scoffed.

"We can't afford to take any unnecessary risks, especially in unknown territory."

"This isn't exactly unknown territory anymore, Epsilon. We have access to the ship's logs and this Codex of theirs."

"That's beside the point!" If Epsilon had been a human of flesh and sinew, Atlas would have seen the furrowing of his brow and the greying of his hair.

"Just think about it this way: Since there's no Darkness, there should be nothing stopping you from resurrecting me at will."

"How about we take to not put that theory to the test?"

"Fine," Atlas conceded. "Do you still need the prisoners for information?"

"See what you can get out of them about Omega's hierarchy. Somehow, I doubt that that kind of information will be floating around on the Extranet."

"The what?"

"I'll tell you later. Now, get going."

With a sigh, Atlas turned back to the prisoners, who had up until that point been watching the exchange between the giant and the floating ball with trepidation. One of them asked loudly what was going on, but received no response. The Titan looked at them for a while, his eyes hidden behind his helmet's sloped visor, tinted black by paint and wear. Standing there before them, they thought him more terrifying than any Krogan Warlord or Asari Commando. His left shoulder was adorned with nothing but a simple, albeit masterfully crafted, pauldron. On his right shoulder however, rested the skull of some great beast that sported four-eyes, which only compounded to their already fearful state. Unbeknownst to them, the Titan's trophy was the skull of the Winter Archon, Aksor, slain by Atlas in the heart of House Winter's lair. Even without that knowledge, his presence terrified them.

Though he stood taller than any of the Batarians, it was his bearing that truly marked him as their better: A warrior of such proficiency that he had made the brutal culling of four veteran pirates seem like an ordinary affair. And now, as he stood silent before them, the detonator to their collars clutched in his hand, they couldn't help but whimper.

"Please! We've already surrendered!" Their cries were of desperation and blinded by tears. Atlas had not known that aliens could shed tears.

"Your continued survival complicates my course of action. If I drop you off at Omega, what's to keep you from coming back to kill me?" Atlas's words were dead, as if he had detached himself from them even as they passed his lips.

"I swear on my life!" One begs.

"I already have your life." Atlas held up the detonator in his hand.

"There's a bounty on me worth ten thousand credits, alive." The one who had previously been bowled over by his captain's corpse spoke. "I'm sure that C-Sec would be happy to take the others off of your hands as well."

"C-Sec?" Atlas muttered in confusion, speaking quietly enough that the Batarians could not clearly understand his low tones.

"Citadel-Security, the primary security force of the Citadel, which itself is the primary political and economic center of the known galaxy." Epsilon replied, before adding, "Their bounties check out. Jareth Dol'khan, wanted alive, ten thousand credits. The others are worth a handful as well."

Atlas pulled up the Codex on his helmet's HUD, which Epsilon had updated to include the database in its entirety, and opened the file on the Citadel. After a brief look through, he decided that this new destination would be just as likely as Omega to have the materials he needed to make repairs to his ship. He had frowned briefly when he had seen how slowl the frigate's FTL drives were in comparison to Holiday's custom designs, but further reading through of the Codex revealed to him the wonders of Mass Relays. The ability to cross a galaxy in mere seconds... The possibilities were endless.

"Alright then," the Titan said as he clipped the detonator back to his belt. "Epsilon, get the Damsel docked to this ship and plot a course to the Citadel. Time to get ourselves acquainted with the locals."


	2. Chapter 2

1.1.2156 CE. Terminus System.

Atlas watched as the stars blended together into one great mixture of iridescent blue that washed over the Batarian frigate, surrounding and enveloping it as the ship was hurled across the galaxy with the assistance of a Mass Relay. With the Damsel safely docked in the frigate, courtesy of several minutes of confused tinkering on Epsilon's part, the Ghost had steered the ship towards the nearby Mass Relay, which Atlas had stared at in awe. It was massive, to say the least. The only relative comparison he could make to the Relay's size was Oryx's Dreadnaught, and even then, this structure was significantly larger.

As they had approached the Mass Relay, tendrils of blue energy, not unlike the green lightning that the Anomaly had used to send him here, latched onto the frigate and accelerated it past the speed of light. Atlas couldn't say that he'd ever had much experience being thrown around like a soccer ball, but he felt himself somewhat more validated after his trip through the Relay.

The Batarians, whom he had taken as prisoners, were seated back to back in front of him, quietly fidgeting in discomfort at the ever present threat of the slave collars noosed around their necks. One of them had fallen asleep, the stress of the situation having taken its toll on the pirate. So far as Atlas could tell, they were all too thoroughly subdued to make any attempt to wrest control of their ship back from him.

"Atlas," Epsilon spoke, getting his Guardian's attention. "There are other life forms aboard the frigate, though the ship's logs list them as "Trophies". They're in the cargo hold."

"What kind of trophies?"

"Yahg. The Codex entry on them describes them as an intelligent, yet savage species. These particular ones were intended to be sold to an underground fighting ring on Omega."

"Well, they'll be C-Sec's problem once we collect on the bounties."

"Speaking of which, the Captain has a bounty on him. Dead or alive, thirty thousand credits."

"How much can that buy us?"

"Enough to buy us the spare parts that we need to repair the Damsel."

It was now that a pondering look settled over Atlas's features, something which neither the Batarians nor Epsilon could see behind the Titan's Iron Regalia helmet. Element Zero, which Atlas had skimmed through the Codex entry on, was heavily integrated into the local technology, and his own equipment might raise a few eyebrows. He could refuel the Damsel easily enough, most ships still used carbon-based fuels, but any repairs that he might need to make to his own Warp Drive would not go smoothly. Any kind of FTL drive that he might find around here was Element Zero based, and despite all of its capabilities, Epsilon would likely be unable to adapt that kind of tech to the Damsel's systems in a timely fashion.

There were still echoes in Atlas's memory from early in his second life of the day that he had discovered the schematics for the Damsel during a Vanguard sanctioned strike against the House of Devils. The rolled up blueprints had been stashed away in a Fallen Ether chest, which the Titan and his fireteam had happened upon after taking down a high ranking Devils Captain. He had flown the ship for nearly eight decades, and he would be damned if he ditched it for another craft when there was still a good chance of repairing it.

"Hey," Atlas turned in response to his Ghost's call. "I've been looking around on the Extranet ever since we took control of the ship, and I can't find anything on Humans. We're going to have to find some way to explain what you are, or at least hide it, which is probably the simpler option. Human anatomy is close enough to those of certain, local species that, with armor, your appearance shouldn't draw too many questions."

Atlas brought up the Codex on his HUD and scrolled through the various species that comprised the "Citadel Races," both major and minor. Turian, Krogan, Quarian; all out of the question. A Batarian then? No, they weren't particularly well-received within Citadel space on account of the fact that most of the ones beyond Hegemony space were either pirates or slavers. He supposed that he could pass for one of the monogendered Asari, albeit a rather tall and flat-chested one. Then again, he could always just chalk that up to wearing thick armor if anyone asked him about it.

"What should I do if someone asks me what my name is?" Atlas was a soldier, not a spy, and Epsilon was likely to know more about these kinds of situations than he.

"I'll see what I can do, but we're going to have to keep you as inconspicuous as possible." Epsilon had moved over to one of the prisoners, who glared indignantly but did nothing as the small Ghost scanned the Batarian's omni-tool. "You could try and pass yourself off as a bounty hunter and use a generic Asari name. Considering how many bounty hunter ads there are on the Extranet, no one should scrutinize your credentials too closely."

It sounded like a plan to Atlas. He'd had plenty of experience hunting down high profile targets for the Vanguard, from Hive Wizards to Prime Servitors. The only hitch would be attempting to pose as an Asari.

"And," Epsilon said, catching his Guardian's attention. "I'll need to make some adjustments to your helmet's voice projector. If we want to make this disguise convincing, then you'll need to at least sound like a woman."

"Oh joy..."

Glancing briefly at the prisoners, Atlas shook his head and released his helmet's pressure seals before removing the armored headgear itself. The Batarians all looked at him funnily for a moment before one of them spoke up.

"Is that... a furry Asari?"

Without his helmet, Atlas couldn't understand what the Batarian was saying word-for-word, but he got the gist of it. A glare from the Titan promptly silenced the outbreak of whispers from the pirates. With that settled, he placed his helmet on one of the control panels beside him, letting Epsilon get to work on the modification.

"Atlas, go over to the Captain's body and pick up his omni-tool." Atlas went over the corpse, bending at the knees as he lowered himself to examine the wrist-mounted computer. To him, the very idea of such a device was outlandish, as he was accustomed to Epsilon taking care of any technical matters. But, he could see how useful they could be for non-Guardians, and it would be rather suspicious if he showed up to the Citadel without one.

When he had appropriated the dead Batarian's omni-tool, he secured it to his wrist and followed Epsilon's instructions to turn it on. The orange holograms that sprung up from the device were nonsensical to Atlas, and the written words displayed were in some foreign language.

"Your omni-tool comes installed with a universal translator," Epsilon chimed in. "I'll update its software with English so you don't need me to hold your hand all the time."

"Thank you, mother." Came the response, dripping with sarcasm.

It took Epsilon only a few seconds to update its Guardian's omni-tool, and soon the writing displayed on the projected holograms could be understood by the Titan. It was a start, he supposed.

But, there was no time to explore his new toy's functions as the frigate came to lurching stop. The nebulous shroud of blue light that had enveloped the ship during its journey through the Mass Relay had disappeared to reveal the stars once more. And now, seated mightily in what seemed to be the center of this star cluster, was the Citadel, the five long protrusions that were its "arms" extending outwards into the darkness. The sheer size of the space station was astounding to Atlas, and its defenses even more so. Around it swarmed a veritable armada of ships, some of them clearly military, while others paraded no clear armaments; merchant ships, most likely.

Three of the military ships suddenly veered off from their patrol routes in response to the sudden appearance of the Batarian frigate. Atlas's brow furrowed in consternation. Each one of those ships was packing more heat than he cared to see demonstrated. Turning to Epsilon, he put his helmet back on and ordered:

"Hail those ships before they fire on us. And, you might want to tell me what my name is." Epsilon blinked away without a verbal response, but Atlas's omni-tool chirped and glowed briefly. Looking down at his wrist, Atlas opened up the notification to see a new file waiting to be read. With a touch, the file was projected up as a floating hologram, displaying the Guardian's fake credentials.

He, or she, rather, was now Staiyana V'lali, an former Asari Commando turned bounty hunter who had been born on Illium. She was the daughter of an unnotable Asari clerk and a Krogan mercenary, which happened to be why she was so tall. Inconspicuous enough to not warrant a closer inspection, but still accomplished enough to explain her lone capture of a Batarian frigate and its crew. Epsilon had outdone itself this time.

"Atlas," the Ghost called. "I've established comms with the captain of the ship in the middle, the Destiny Ascension. Linking it to your helmet now."

Centered in his HUD was a one-eyed Asari with red tattoos dotting the azure skin around her lips. Rather than wear an eyepatch, it seemed that she had opted for some form of cybernetic eye that was looking quite sternly at the screen in front of her. Atlas would be lying if he said that the blue-skinned alien in front of him didn't remind him of Petra Venj, commander of the Awoken Royal Guard and de facto leader of the Reef in the absence of the Queen.

"I am Joseyntha A'tain, captain of the Destiny Ascension. State your name and business, Batarian." The words came out in a tone that Atlas would have reserved for a Fallen Dreg.

"Not a Batarian, actually." Atlas responded, his normally low, distinctly masculine voice replaced by a feminine one, courtesy of Epsilon's modifications.

"My name is Staiyana V'lali, registered bounty hunter," Atlas watched the Asari captain's face for any hint of suspicion. "I have subdued the crew of this frigate, but my own, personal vessel was crippled during the fight. I am requesting permission to dock, collect on these bounties, and make the necessary repairs to my ship."

There was a brief, tense pause, as Captain A'tain signalled to someone off-screen, likely giving the silent order to run a credentials check on "Staiyana V'lali". After a few more seconds of silence, the Captain spoke.

"Permission granted, Miss V'lali. A fighter escort will accompany you to the Docking Bay. A'tain, out." The video screen of the blue alien faded from the Titan's HUD as A'tain ended the transmission.

"Well," Epsilon sighed. "That went smoothly"

"Of course," Atlas responded. "Or, they've figured out that I'm running a fake credentials and there'll be an armed welcome party waiting for us."

"Have I ever told you that you're more pessimistic than Toland ever was?"

"Did I ever tell you about the hot pink shell that I found on Mars?"

"Right. Shutting up now."

Approaching the frigate were two, sleek one-man fighters that looked like someone had taken an oval, cut it in half, and attached a pair of engines to it. The design was about as foreign to Atlas as humor was to Zavala. Epsilon dutifully steered the frigate behind the two escort ships, headed for one of the Citadel's five arms.

Atlas looked back at the prisoners, noting their posture and demeanor. As much as they probably hated the idea of going to prison for the rest of their lives, being subjected to a buckshot round at close range was an even less favorable fate. They didn't look up to meet his gaze.

The finer details of the Citadel's arms became clearer to him as the frigate neared the Docking Bay, and Atlas could make out a sprawling metropolis of shops, skyscrapers and residential buildings that bustled with life. There was no worry of enemies at the gates, no worries of ravening gods plotting schemes of extinction.

"This is what the City could look like." Atlas mused quietly.

"And one day, it will." Epsilon asserted, giving its Guardian a solemn look.

Both Titan and Ghost were broken out of their revery as Epsilon docked the frigate at the designated landing pad, the large ship handling surprisingly well in the Citadel's artificial atmosphere despite being built specifically for the vacuum of space.

"Alright. You ready?" Ghost asked.

"Ready." Atlas replied as he ran a double-check of his weapons.

"Not sure if you've seen the Codex entry on AIs, but I'm going to have to stay hidden unless you want to start a firefight with the entirety of C-Sec."

"Right." Atlas hadn't, in fact, looked at that particular Codex entry, but he knew better than to question Epsilon when the situation came down to the wire. After he had picked up the Batarian captain's corpse, he motioned for the prisoners to follow him as he made his way to the cargo hold airlock where his HUD's feed showed a three-man welcome party standing about in wait.

When he reached the cargo hold he took the time to examine the captured Yahg that were slumbering in their cages. The bars of each cage had visible currents running through them, and Atlas could only assume that the creatures were more dangerous than he had initially assumed. Even through the thick, dark carapace that covered the creatures' bodies, their muscles bulged with veins. Atlas supposed that they might be fun to fight.

"Was it difficult," Atlas asked, directing the vague question at the Batarians before clarifying. "Capturing them."

"We lost five men trying to tranquilize them." One of the pirates grunted.

"Hmm." Was the Titan's only response, though, internally, his thoughts raced with excitement.

As the party reached the cargo hold's airlock, situated opposite the entrance that they had entered the room from, Epsilon materialized to release the locks on the metal door. Catching some of the Batarians staring at his Ghost suspiciously, Atlas turned to them and said:

"You will not speak of what you have seen today. All that you saw was an Asari bounty hunter who commandeered your ship. Know now that no matter where you serve your sentences, should I find out that you have revealed my secrets, I will find you."

With that, Atlas turned back to the reinforced door and pressed his omni-tool to the now green symbol on the airlock door. There was a ramp extending downwards at a gradual decline, at the bottom of which stood two, blue-armored Turians armed holding assault rifles assault rifles. Their faces were rather birdlike in appearance, Atlas noted. Only, they sported no feathers and their skin seemed comparable to leather in texture. They were looking at him warily, no doubt put-off by the Titan's sheer size. Aksor's skull probably wasn't helping either.

"Greetings, bounty hunter," welcomed a third Turian, who motioned the other two aside as he stepped forward to greet the new arrival. "I'm Detective Silas Vakarian and these are Officers Comitus and Cyrus. We're here to escort you and your prisoners to C-Sec Academy."

The Detective wore what seemed to be a marksman's visor over his left eye and he bore several distinct markings on his face. In the Turian's words Atlas could hear an undertone of boredom, not unlike the way Cayde-6 sounded during Vanguard meetings. It was something that Atlas himself could sympathize with. Despite his own high standing with the Lords of Iron, the displaced Titan still held the tenets of the Firebreak Order close to his heart. To him, an impenetrable defense meant nothing without at equally unrelenting offense.

"Pleasure to meet you, officers. If you don't mind, my personal ship is docked to the frigate, and its circuitry received some damage during the fight. I would be much obliged if you got someone to bring it down somewhere where I can make repairs."

"It's no problem, ma'am," Vakarian responded, tapping away at something on his omni-tool. "We'll have your ship brought down to a mechanic."

"Thank you, Detective."

"Of course. If you'll follow me now?"

"Right. Lead on then, gentlemen." Atlas shifted the body of the Batarian captain, which was sliding off of him, back onto his shoulder.

With an almost imperceivable shudder, Vakarian's subordinates fell into step behind the group of prisoners, who were now walking single file behind the Titan. The Detective himself walked beside Atlas, glancing warily at the bounty hunter every few seconds.

Silas certainly wasn't used to being dwarfed by an Asari, but he discreetly hid his discomfort at his current situation. One Asari had taken down an entire crew of pirates, killing five and taking the others hostage. The whole thing would've made more sense to him if the bounty hunter had just killed all of the crew. After all, taking bounties alive was a notoriously difficult task for even the most experienced hunters. So, to take five Batarian pirates alive? That was just plain suspicious.

Of course, the Turian Detective hadn't seen the manner in which Atlas had gunned down the first four pirates before proceeding to fatally body slam the Captain. A brutal display of dominance like that would make even a fool think twice before engaging such a threat. No.

The naive Turian could not be blamed for his suspicions. If anything, considering the limited knowledge that he had, they were well founded.

The rest of their journey to C-Sec Academy was uneventful, unless one counted the number of stares that Atlas attracted from both C-Sec personnel and civilians alike. When they had eventually arrived at their intended destination, four more officers were waiting to take the prisoners and the corpse off of the Titan's hands. Vakarian then informed him that C-Sec would transfer the bounty credits to the bounty hunter's bank account.

"Tell them that you'd rather have the credits transferred via your omni-tool. You're paranoid like that." Epsilon missed the eye-roll that Atlas responded with.

"I'd rather have the credits transferred directly through my omni-tool."

"I'll let the bounty handler know," Detective Vakarian responded. "It will take a few minutes for the bounties to be processed, so you may as well make yourself comfortable. There's a levo/dextro cafe here in the Academy. As for me, I've got to get back to some paperwork."

With that, the Turian Detective headed off for his office, leaving Atlas to stand alone in the middle of the bustle of activity that was the Academy.

"Epsilon," Atlas said, turning off his voice projector. "What's our next move?"

"There are plenty of shops that sell the electronics we'll need to repair the Damsel, but after that I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"Vanguard star charts only cover Sol and a few of the surrounding systems. Without a larger frame of reference, I can't even begin to try and plot us a course back to Earth."

"Then we're stuck here?"

"Indefinitely."

"Shit."

"Maybe if we had a Golden Age star chart we might be able to find out where we are relative to home. But, the chances of us finding one here are nonexistent."

This. This was a setback: one that Atlas was unsure of how to approach. He unconsciously looked down at the mark hanging from his waist, denoting his allegiance to the New Monarchy and his absolute resolve to protect the Last City. Did any of that even matter now?

Atlas had fought at Twilight Gap, the bloodiest battle ever fought in the defense of the City. He had been a newborn Guardian at the time, and ever after that fateful battle he had devoted his life to the Vanguard. He had had purpose: a reason to fight. Now what did he have to fight for?

No. He couldn't give up like that. To do so would be to consign himself to madness.

"Then we'll just have to keep searching." It was all he could bring himself to say.

"Atlas, take a look at the Codex entry on Biotics." Epsilon called to him, breaking the Titan out of his thoughts. Pulling up the relevant Codex entry, Atlas frowned as he read through it.

"This can't be right," Atlas muttered, his mind racing. "The species of this galaxy are touched by neither Light nor Darkness, yet their Biotic abilities could be mistaken for those of a Guardian wielding Void Light."

Exposure to Element Zero was the cause of Biotic abilities, as explained in the Codex entry, and the very thought made Atlas uneasy. Biotics could essentially utilize Void Light for battlefield deployment, but without the Light. That in and of itself was grounds for scrutiny.

"Eezo did for these peoples what the Light did for Humanity." Epsilon concluded.

"But, at what cost? Their individual weapon systems may have improved, as well as their FTL capabilities, but nothing seems to have changed since then. Even the City's foundries are constantly churning out new tech or rediscovering Golden Age secrets., and that's been going on even with constant war and our shortage of Glimmer."

"Don't be so hard on them, Atlas. They haven't had the threat of extinction hanging over their heads for the as long as they can remember."

"Tch," Atlas snorted dismissively. "Naturally occurring elements don't give people fucking superpowers. This Eezo of theirs was created by someone. And I'm betting that whoever did that did so in preparation for something."

"The Traveler?"

"It's certainly possible. Humanity wasn't the first civilization it touched, after all."

"Then I think that it's worth some digging into."

"At least it'll give us something to do."

It was at that moment that Atlas was given something to do, whether or not he wanted any involvement aside. A red-armored, battle scarred Krogan was lumbering towards where the Titan was having his silent conversation with Epsilon. Atlas looked up, nodding to acknowledge the approaching toad and taking note of the massive shotgun slung over the newcomer's back.

"So, you're the one who took down Jagath and his crew." If Atlas had swallowed a bucket of nails and pitched his voice as low as he possibly could, he might have been able to match the Krogan's voice.

"And you are?" Atlas answered with a question of his own.

"Urdnot Wrex. Bounty hunter."

"Word travels fast it seems."

"Only to those who have an interest."

"And what is your interest, exactly?"

"I was assigned to hunt down Jagath by an employer. Seems you beat me to the punch."

"To be fair, I only stumbled upon him by accident. His ship tried to shoot mine and things escalated from there."

"Hah," the Krogan bellowed. "That's one way to put it. A feat like yours deserves a drink. After you finish up with your business here, meet me at Flux, in the Upper Wards."

Giving the Titan a toothy grin that seemed almost predatory, Wrex walked off, the sight of his stubby tail leaving Atlas wondering what on earth it could possibly be useful for. Soon after, a Turian C-Sec officer whom Atlas hadn't seen before, notified him that the credit transfer was complete and that his ship had been moved to Terminus and Beyond, a ship vendor that also offered repair services. Atlas supposed that he could risk a quick drink with the Urdnot bounty hunter. After all, he wasn't in any particular hurry.

A few elevator rides later found the Titan standing in front of a flashing neon sign that said "Flux" in looping font. He wasn't sure what to expect from a place like this. Hell, the closest experience that he'd had to a nightclub was the Blustery Brew, where he drank with his fellow Titans after coming home from his duties.

The bouncer at the door let him in without any resistance, and Atlas took a moment to scan the main floor for his Krogan acquaintance. After checking the bar and the dance floor, Atlas finally found Wrex sitting in one of the private booths, a rather large tankard of viscous, green liquid in his three fingered hands. Looking up from his drink, the Krogan beckoned to the Titan.

"Nice place," Atlas shouted over the din of electronic music. "What're you drinking?"

"Ryncol," came the response. "I'd offer you a try, but it'd probably kill you."

"In that case, I'll pass."

"Heh, good choice."

"So, you're a bounty hunter?"

"So, you're not an Asari?"

"Actually... wait, what?" Atlas instinctively gripped the First Curse, the action hidden beneath the table.

"Relax," Wrex growled, though not in a particularly threatening manner. "The reason I dragged you out here is because no one will overhear this conversation. The music's too loud and the patrons are too drunk."

"Alright. So, what do you want from me?"

"I want to know what your game is. What are you planning?"

"Planning?"

"Yeah."

Atlas thought on that, pondering whether or not he should reveal to the Krogan who he actually was. Then again, Wrex had straight up told him that he knew that the Titan was no Asari. If the alien bounty hunter had any ulterior motives concerning him, then he'd thrown away his best chances of acting on them. Atlas supposed that it wouldn't hurt to tell someone his secret, and it might even gain him an ally in the hulking warrior of a toad.

"Come with me to my ship. It's down at Terminus and Beyond for repairs."

"You'll explain yourself there?"

"I will."

Atlas made to stand up, Wrex following, and brought up his omni-tool's map of the Citadel. It looked like Terminus and Beyond was near the Docking Bay, probably for the sake of convenience.

As the out of place duo walked through several residential areas towards their destination they drew a copious amount of stares. The local thugs, who would normally give two strangers trouble, left the bounty hunters a wide berth, scared off either by their size or their weapons.

"So, Wrex," Atlas began, breaking the silence that had settled between them since they had left Flux. "How did you know?"

"You smell wrong."

"How so?"

"Your scent. It's not Asari, and it's not Batarian. And you sure as all hell aren't a Krogan."

"Fair enough."

After a few more minutes of walking, Atlas and his tag-along reached the ship vendor where they were greeted by a Volus. The short, stocky little thing informed the Titan via a series of wheezing coughs that his ship was down in Bay 9. No one had touched it since it had arrived. Atlas thanked the tiny alien and left to find the Damsel, Wrex keeping pace despite their height disparity.

The Damsel was propped up by its landing gears, one at the front and two at the back. Bays 1 through 8, which Atlas had passed on his way to Bay 9, had all been bustling with activity as mechanics spliced and welded their damaged charges. Thankfully, there were no grease monkeys working on his Guardian ship.

"Epsilon," Atlas called. "Transmat us up."

"Including Wrex here?"

"Including the dinosaur."

"The what?" The dinosaur in question asked.

"Right. Transmatting you up now."

The familiar sensation of the each individual atom in his body being plucked apart and transferred back to his ship was comforting to the Guardian. It was a sensation that those who were not Guardians might never experience. Wrex, however, was taking this newfound feeling rather poorly.

As the two bounty hunters were deposited in the Damsel's small cargo hold, the Titan on his feet and the Krogan on his ass, Epsilon winked into existence beside its Guardian.

"Ugh," Wrex groaned after a few seconds of silent agony. "What was that?"

"That was your first experience with transmatting. So, what do you think?"

"I think that that kind of tech doesn't exist."

"Not around these parts it doesn't."

"So, you're really not from around here."

"Pretty much." The Krogan's eyes narrowed at Atlas's response.

"You said that you'd explain yourself."

"I did."

"Then get going."

Rather than start off his explanation with an elaborate spiel, the Human simply took off his helmet.

"Oh shit."

"You know, I'm pretty sure that this isn't what most people would call an "official" first contact scenario. But, why don't we carry this conversation out like one?" Atlas searched the Krogan's eyes for any hint of aggression at the sudden revelation of his true identity. Thankfully for both parties, he found none.

"This day is turning out to be stranger than the time I rode an Elcor at a race on Omega."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

"Well, in that case, my name is Atlas. Human. Guardian of the Last City on Earth and a Titan of the Iron Banner. I have also been called King Feller, Kellslayer, and Timebreaker"

"What?"

"This is the part where you introduce yourself, Wrex." The Krogan harrumphed before conceding to the Titan's cheeky response.

"Urdnot Wrex. Krogan. Son of Jarrod. Bounty Hunter. No ostentatious titles"

"Nice to meet you, Wrex."

"Whatever. Now, tell me what those titles actually mean."

"I am a Guardian of the Last City, the only Human city left in the known galaxy. As a Guardian, I am charged with the eternal defense of the Last City. As a Titan, I am charged with mastering the battlefield applications of the Light and manning the Wall against the Light's enemies, who wage an eternal dark crusade against us."

"Right... so what exactly is this... Light?"

"Guardians are not trained, but born. Or, more specifically, reborn. I myself was reborn into the Light over a century ago. As for the Light itself? It might be easier for you to comprehend the Light if you think about it like Eezo."

"How so?"

"Light was introduced to my people by the Traveler, a godlike being whose aid launched Humanity into its Golden Age. Weapons imbued with Light are more powerful than most all weapons without it, and Light-imbued armor can withstand punishment that would normally reduce a target to ash. The Light is the intangible power that gives us Guardians our superhuman abilities. It is the intangible power that makes us immortal."

By that point, Wrex's jaw was hanging limply from his face, his eyes shining with disbelief. Atlas figured that the issue of his immortality would be unbelievable, to say the least.

"Immortal like an Asari?" Wrex asked, not quite wanting to understand the full extent of Atlas's immortality.

"No. Immortal as in I can be brought back from beyond death."

"Varren-shit."

"Alright."

The cargo hold echoed with the ringing of a single shot from the First Curse as the smoking gun fell from Atlas's hand, now slack with death. Eyes alight with alarm, the Krogan searched wildly for the exit.

"Relax," Epsilon chuckled. "He wasn't lying." Wrex calmed slightly at the sight of yet another strange occurrence, which seemed to be becoming the norm for him on that day. The Krogan watched the strange little synthetic ball as it floated down next to the Human's headless body and scanned it. A few seconds later there was a whoosh of wind accompanied by a flash of blue light, and Atlas reappeared, cured of his headshot wound.

"Fuck me sideways."

"I'd rather not."

"You really weren't lying."

"Nope."

"So," Wrex grunted after a pause. "What's the deal with the floating ball?"

"Actually," Epsilon started, indignantly. "I'm a Ghost. An artificial intelligence construct created by the Traveler to amplify my Guardian's combat efficiency."

"What he means is that he opens doors for me." Atlas cut in.

"Among other things." Epsilon muttered in its defense.

"But, it's an AI?"

"Do you have a problem with that?" Atlas asked, his tone not quite threatening, but not quite as relaxed as it had been before.

"Not unless it gives me a reason to."

"Good. Epsilon, access the Terminus and Beyond vendor and buy whatever replacement parts we need. The sooner the Damsel can fly again, the sooner we can start our search for answers."

"Answers to what?"

"I was brought here, to wherever here is, by an anomaly. And as much as I would like to return home, the Eezo that the people of this galaxy use has caught my interest. What you think of as a naturally occurring, albeit miraculous, element, I see as something that has been created to mimic the effects of the Light."

"Well, whatever it is you plan on doing, I want in."

Now it was Atlas's turn to be confused. He had not accounted for the possibility of adding a bounty hunting dinosaur to his fireteam.

"Why do you want to come with me?"

"Because, human, you've caught my interest. And if half of your titles hold any merit to them, then I'm sure that accompanying you will be fun, if nothing else."

"Very well. Welcome to Fireteam Atlas, Urdnot Wrex."

 **And that wraps up Chapter 2. Now that Wrex is on Atlas's fireteam, you'll see a lot more bounty hunting going down. One of you reviewers, you know who you are, caught a continuity mistake of mine. The Vakarian who Atlas meets in this chapter is Garrus' father. This story takes place one year before the First Contact War, so Atlas still has some time before he'll have to face some hard truths concerning just how stranded he is in the ME verse. For those of you who followed, favorited and/or reviewed the first chapter, thank you so much. Knowing that there are some of you who enjoyed or were interested by this story is definitely a source of encouragement to me. I'll see you all in the next chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3

1.5.2156 CE. Eagle Nebula. Amun System. Sekhmet.

"Having fun yet, you overgrown dinosaur?" An armor piercing, mass accelerated round pinged off of Atlas's visor, snapping his head back and eliciting a grunt of surprise from the Titan. He ducked back into cover, even as he fired off two rounds from the First Curse in retaliation. Beyond Atlas's sight, hidden behind the smokescreen in front of him, there was a scream of pain, accompanied by a multitude of shouts.

"Goddess! His arm's gone!"

"So," Wrex started as he slid behind the collapsed pillar where Atlas knelt. "Just how far can that pistol of yours shoot?" The target had been well over fifty meters away, and the bullet from the First Curse had had enough stopping power to completely sever the unfortunate Turian's arm at the shoulder, even from that range.

Not deigning the Krogan with an answer, Atlas signalled for Epsilon to transmat the Super Good Advice down to him. The heavy machine gun appeared in the Guardian's hands in a flash of blue, its red and white frame nestled snugly against his body.

"You have your entire arsenal at your fingertips, at all times?" Wrex asked in disbelief.

"There's really no other way to fight."

"Spoiled is what you are."

Atlas stood up from his cover and aimed Pahanin's former mad-spitter companion down the bridge separating he and Wrex from the Eclipse mercs on the other side. The mercs were there to guard an illegal Eezo mining facility, operating on some Ilium-based businesswoman's payroll. The mining operation had stayed secret for some time, isolated from any major population centers, until an information leak from within Eclipse reached the ears of a major Eezo mining company; the same company that had hired Wrex and Atlas, as Staiyana, to shut down the operation.

The Eclipse operators were smart, well equipped, and well payed. However, they had deployed a smokescreen in split second decision lacking in common sense. None of them had thermal imaging, though to be fair, neither did Wrex or Atlas. Then again, accuracy wasn't an issue where Atlas's Exotic machine gun was concerned.

Roaring to life, the Super Good Advice let loose a torrent of Solar rounds into the thicket of smoke.

"Wrex, close and engage!" The Krogan's battle cry could be heard even over the din of gunfire as he charged across the bridge. The hail of bullets being spat from the Titan's weapon kept the mercs hidden behind cover, too scared to risk blind firing. And, even when Atlas was expected to have run out of ammo, the barrage having lasted for well over thirty seconds, the suppressing fire just kept coming.

Atlas gave an idle glance at his ammo counter even as he hip-fired the Super Good Advice. The counter read at full capacity, he hadn't hit anyone, and so he held the trigger down, allowing Wrex to pass through the smokescreen unharmed by the mercs' nonexistent resistance. When the Battlemaster was near enough to the enemy that Atlas couldn't continue to shoot without accidentally shredding his teammate into chunks, he let go of the trigger and made to join Wrex.

One Asari, hearing the silence that had settled over the battlefield, decided to risk a peek over the steel barricade that she was hiding behind, only for the barrel of a shotgun to greet her. Her head disappeared as Wrex pulled the trigger of his scattergun, toppling her decapitated body over and spraying her teammates with blood. The five remaining Eclipse scrambled to get shots on the massive target that had presented itself to them, their weapons blazing in response to the Asari's sudden death. Two of them were gunned down by Wrex's shotgun before they could do any real damage, and the Krogan ducked down behind the steel barricade when gunfire began hitting home against his barriers.

When the mercs had overheated their weapons, Wrex re-engaged with a biotic charge, leaving a trail of iridescent purple in his wake as he collided with a Salarian, sending the frail alien flying. Now, too close to the last two, both of them Turians, for efficient use of his shotgun, Wrex headbutted one of them, crushing his skull, before turning his attention to the last man standing. The remaining Turian was hurriedly backing away from the Krogan, inaccurately spraying his assault rifle from the hip as he did so. However, Wrex's shields held long enough for him to close the gap and slam the butt of his gun into the merc's chest, knocking him over, but not killing him.

Atlas arrived at the barricade just in time to watch Wrex finish off his victim with a curbstomp, molding together the Turian's head and helmet into a two dimensional, macabre splotch.

"The controls to the station's power supply are somewhere in the building's sub basement, three hundred meters underground." Wrex stared at Atlas upon hearing the information.

"Who in their right mind puts a critical room that far underground?"

"Eclipse, apparently," Atlas replied, using his foot to casually prod the Asari whom Wrex had headbutted, which elicited a groan from the blue alien. "This one's still alive."

"Not for much longer she won't be." Wrex growled as he raised his shotgun.

"Hang on, Wrex. She might be of some use. The front door has a biometric lock on it, and I'm guessing that at least one of these mercs has clearance." Atlas gave a pointed look at the Asari, though the full effect was lost behind the Titan's polarized visor.

"I'm not unlocking that door for you. " The Asari spat at him, her words coming out more like a croak than anything else.

"Wrex, does that lock need a hand or an eye?"

"Looks like it's designed to take an eye."

"Epsilon," Atlas said, switching off his voice projector and onto the comms link that he shared with Wrex and Epsilon. "Get down here and have a look at that lock. See if it needs a living key."

The Ghost appeared behind Atlas with a subtle flash of transmat blue, out of sight from the Asari. After a quick scan, Epsilon disappeared back into its Guardian's backpack.

"Doesn't look like it, Atlas." Epsilon observed the feral grin that was spreading across its Guardian's face via the helmet's inner camera. While the Citadel races might not have believed that a synthetic could feel genuine concern for an organic, Epsilon was certainly fearing for the Asari's life, which now rested in Atlas's hands.

"Good. Simplifies things." Atlas raised the First Curse and fired one shot at the Asari, center mass. Then, he picked up her limp form by the jaw and pressed her face against the ocular lock, holding it there for the scanner.

"That was... cold." Wrex muttered, perturbation apparent on his face.

"She was of no use to us, and her continued survival would have threatened the mission. What would you have had me do otherwise?"

"Didn't mean it like that. I've got no qualms with what you did, but it was still damn cold."

"I know."

An ascending tone followed by a flash of green signalled the unlocking of the facility's front door, prompting Atlas and Wrex to turn away from each other and towards the entrance, their weapons drawn. From what Atlas had seen of Epsilon's scans of the facility and monitoring of Eclipse communication channels, there were still over twenty five-man squads patrolling both the main floor and the control room sublevel, with the bulk of their numbers concentrated in the sub basement.

The door slid upwards with a hiss, revealing a long passageway leading to the main lobby, filled with mercs. Gunfire filled the hallway, sending the two bounty hunters scrambling down the to the other end of the narrow route, where they took up positions next to the doorway of the lobby's threshold.

"Wrex," Atlas shouted. "I'm moving up. Get behind me and stay behind the shield."

"Shield?" Wrex shouted back, looking over Atlas's armor for whatever trick the Titan was hiding up his sleeve. "What shield?"

Ignoring the Krogan's question, Atlas summoned forth a dense sphere of pure Void Light between the palms of his hands, allowing it to expand outwards until it extended beyond his broad frame. His hands held outward, the Titan moved forward, Wrex close behind. As he advanced on the enemy's fortifications, Atlas's modified Ward of Dawn was assailed by hundreds of supersonic metal grains, each one crackling and dissolving upon contact with the impenetrable shield.

The mercs were fanned out across the opposite end of the room, propped up in cover behind metal benches and crates. Thinking that they were being faced with a Biotic Barrier that would dissipate upon sustaining overwhelming firepower, the hired guns kept firing until they had all overheated their weapons. Atlas, noticing this, dropped the Ward and charged into the fray, vaulting over an overturned table and landing next to two mercs at the center of their formation. His position in the middle of the enemy prevented them from firing on him, lest they risk cutting each other to ribbons.

One of the mercs, a Salarian, screamed as he was impaled upon the end of the Invective's bayonet. Gurgling blood and kicking his legs as he was raised off of the ground, the Salarian attempted to lash out at the Titan's face with his webbed fist, only to be sent flying as Atlas pulled the trigger.

A brief flash of red alerted Atlas to the other mercenary as an omni-blade slashed at him, only to be deflected in a shower of sparks by the Guardian's Light. The Titan responded with a well placed punch, fracturing the alien's skull with a single strike.

Now that Atlas had killed off the two soldiers in the middle of the formation, the Eclipse ranks were divided, with four on his left and four on his right. Seeing that Wrex had engaged the group on the right with a steady beat of shotgun blasts, Atlas positioned himself to take on the group on the left. Opening fire, the mercenaries attempted to pin Atlas down, only to look on in shock as their target refused to duck. Even as dozens of rounds struck home against Atlas's shields, the First Curse bucked twice, scoring two headshots with explosively bloody results. At the deaths of their comrades, the two remaining mercenaries fell back into cover, to which Atlas responded to with a grenade formed from his Light, lobbing it over their cover and landing it on the shoulder of one. There was a flash of purple light followed by two screams as their bodies were disintegrated.

A cough triggered Atlas to spin around, his weapon drawn. Wrex was standing there, arms folded over his chest.

"So that was your Light."

"No, that was space magic."

"Very funny. Most biotics wouldn't dream of trying to hold up a barrier against that much firepower. Maybe some of the more powerful Asari Matriarchs, or those Justicars, but even among them, only a few."

"What I did was a simple manipulation of Void Light, though not many Titans would think to follow my example."

"Why?" Wrex asked, already heading for the elevator at the far end of the room.

"Most lack creativity," Atlas responded, falling into step alongside his partner. "Titan training is rigid, to say the least. The majority of the Orders teach you that one's deployment of the Light is an all or nothing gambit."

"Sounds like a damned foolish way to train a soldier. If I used my biotics like that I'd have been killed off years ago." Wrex grunted, activating the elevator call button.

"It helps that a Titan's armor makes them impervious to most weapons, even rockets," the Titan joked, earning a scoff from the Krogan. "But, you have a point. Newborn Titans are taught that the Ward of Dawn can only be used as a stationary defense: a dome that can absorb anything, but has no tactical flexibility."

"So, you retrained yourself." Wrex deduced.

"Yes. Learning the more subtle nuances of harnessing the Light took several years of intensive training, though in the end it was worth the effort."

A shrill chime heralded the elevator's arrival, and the bounty hunters stepped in and pressed the button labelled "sub basement". They stood in silence for a moment, Atlas enjoying the motion of their descent, Wrex fidgeting in anticipation, neither of them expecting Epsilon's sudden appearance within the confined space.

"We've got a slight problem." The Ghost confessed.

"What is it?" Atlas muttered.

"All comms chatter between the Eclipse mercs down there have stopped."

"In response to us?" Wrex looked rather odd, scratching confusedly at the hard crest on the top of his head.

"Doubtful. They know that we're in the elevator and they know that radio silence serves no point in their situation. Third party involvement?" Atlas looked at Epsilon, waiting for an answer as the Ghost simply floated about, pondering.

"Possibly, but I can't say for sure. the elevators in the main lobby are the only way down to the sub-basement. You would have noticed any other intruders."

"A mole then? One of the security detail could have been paid off."

"We can't know for sure until you get eyes on the situation down there. Just be careful."

"And go against nature?"

Epsilon disappeared with a huff of exasperation.

"Atlas," Wrex was as fiddling with the firing mechanism of his shotgun. "Eclipse operators are outfitted with top of the line gear. If their comms have gone offline, then someone else is down there already."

"Noted," Atlas replied. "We'll sweep and clear the sub basement room by room. Regardless of any foreign elements, we still need to destroy this facility."

Wrex simply nodded, his eyes tracking the numbers on the small display of the elevator panel, which was counting down slowly.

Five more floors. The elevator now droned only with the buzz of mechanical whirring and the whoosh of displaced air.

Four more. Atlas deftly restocked the speed loader magazines for his hand cannon, each bullet clinking softly as he slotted them in place.

Three now. Wrex checked his kinetic barriers and the status of his biotic implants. Nothing out of the norm. Strong enough to tank a rocket blast.

Two. Atlas placed his spare magazines back into the armoured ammo pouch strapped to his waist. They jingled as metal pinged against metal.

One. The duo's eyes were now fixed solely upon the descending floor numbers, watching in silence as they dropped down deeper towards the core of the planet.

The doors slid open to reveal the nothingness outside. Down the hallway, through the threshold of the elevator doors, there was nothing that could be seen by either of the two arrivals. Even the activation of their helmet lights did nothing to penetrate the gloom that had flooded the sub basement; the shadows simply ate away at them with grasping tendrils of stygian hues. Such was the nature of the dark that pervaded the hallway that the ceiling lights, despite visibly glowing, illuminated nothing. Their artificial light was being stolen, devoured, by darkness.

The Guardian narrowed his eyes, summoning his Light to himself as he studied the black canvas before him with revulsion. These were the signs of dark armadas that extinguished the glories once great civilizations. These were the signs of the Enemy.

"Wrex," the conviction in the Titan's command contained the same quality as those Lords who had led the Orders at Six Fronts and Twilight Gap. "Stay in my Light. Do not leave it for any reason, lest you be lost forever."

"What's going on here, Atlas?" The Krogan's shotgun scanned the room, blindly searching for an unseen target.

"The Darkness chokes the air, chokes the life from it. Without Light, it will choke you as well." Now the Titan unbound his power, releasing the Light from its prison of relic iron and field plate. For Atlas, it was as if he himself had been set free from the confinements of a barred cell, limitless possibility resting in the palms of his hands, bearing with them the dawn of a new day.

What Wrex saw, what he felt, he could only describe as awful. The Battlemaster felt the unnatural cold of the dark place that held sway over him burn away as the Titan shone with pure Light that had no color, that held only power. But, the same power that was his salvation threatened, in equal parts, to scorch his soul to nothingness.

And so, as the immortal Guardian strode through the elevator doors, the Darkness around him shrinking away in fear and anger, Wrex had no choice but to follow the man. Wherever Atlas walked, the grey metal of the walls and floor was revealed, blemished and stained by blood. The bodies however, were nowhere to be found, though the blood patterns suggested that they had been dragged away; to where, the bounty hunters knew not.

"Epsilon." They had reached the end of the hallway, where the path split off into either direction with no clear sight of what was at the end of each. "Which way to the control room?"

"Take a right."

Atlas rounded the turn and swept the passage, waiting for a threat to make itself known as he crept forward, hand cannon at the ready. The shadows were whispering to him now as he led himself further into their embrace; the same whispers he had heard within the Vault of Glass, within the Hellmouth, aboard the Dreadnaught. Something in the shadows was growling, its gnawing hunger made apparent by the gnashing of its teeth, coming from a hundred billion light years away, but just as loud as if it were in the Titan's ear.

He kept this in mind as he proceeded down the hallway, looking back every few seconds to ensure that Wrex was still following in his Light. One misstep would be the death of the Krogan and, while Atlas had only known him for a few days, he respected the alien for his capabilities.

At the end of the hallway, where the passage widened and the ceiling pinched itself upwards, there was a little green light glowing dimly above a massive, reinforced blast door, which was sealed by several locking mechanisms that became visible as Atlas neared them. The locks were exposed from the inner workings of the barrier; thick, metal bars going from one end of the wall to the other, embedded in pressure sealed sockets. As for the door itself, it was at least a meter thick, impervious to anything short of a bunker buster.

"Epsilon," Atlas whispered, looking the door in front of him up and down. "I'm gonna need you to transmat me some ordnance."

"Please tell me that you're not going to fire a rocket in a confined space."

"I'm not going to fire a rocket in a confined space. I'm going to fire an armor piercing, high explosive warhead down a long corridor."

A flash of blue deposited an ornate rocket launcher with gold insignias along its sides into Atlas's hands, and he gestured for Wrex to step back, he himself following the Krogan back to the turn from where they had just come from.

"Atlas," Wrex looked mildly concerned. "Please tell me that you're not going to fire a rocket launcher down here."

"Don't worry about it." Atlas reassured him, even as the Titan raised the Gjallarhorn to his shoulder. He sighted the target, taking note of the distance between he and it before taking another step back. Wrex was a few more steps back, still safely within the Guardian's Light, but clear of the rocket launcher's impending backblast. After making one last look around to check on Wrex and then the door, Atlas fired.

A single rocket was propelled from the Gjallarhorn's launch tube, a trail of orange flames following in its wake as the missile of ungodly destruction streaked towards its target. When the warhead impacted against the door, the resulting explosion rolled back towards the two bounty hunters, stopping just short of them as the Wolfpack rounds residing in the warhead were released.

The cluster of submunitions leapt away from the point of impact, falling back into a halo formation before homing in on the small hole that the initial explosion had created in the reinforced door. With all the force of their host missile, the Wolfpack rounds detonated inside of the breach.

Steel screeched and groaned as the door was flung open, though the threshold was still obscured by the cloud of dust and smoke that had risen from the explosion. Atlas's motion detector was abruptly filled with red. The massive barrier had masked the presence of anything hiding behind it, and now, with it gone, there was nothing between whatever lurked within that room and the intruders.

Atlas realized this, and that their current position had no cover, no tactical advantages, so he did the logical thing and stepped across the threshold, his Light flaring in preparation. He was mindful of his footsteps as he crossed into the cavernous space. The walls, covered with technical instruments and holographic monitors, ran in a circle around the stone monolith planted in the center.

The monolith itself wasn't overly impressive in height, reaching only halfway to the peak of the domed ceiling, twenty meters above. Physically, there was nothing impressive about the stone pillar: it bore no insignias or runes that might denote it as having some sort of primordial significance. Still, Atlas shuddered with dread at the sight of the infernal thing.

"Wrex," the Titan commanded. "Keep away from the monolith."

"No kidding." Apparently, even the Lightless Krogan could feel the pure wrongness emanating from the mysterious monument. For a galaxy where Atlas could feel no discernible source of Light or Darkness, that thing's presence posed a problem.

"Movement," Atlas whispered, signalling for his partner to halt as the Titan's motion sensors flared red once again. "We're surrounded."

"How many?" Wrex asked, standing back to back with the Titan so that the duo was covering one another's blind spots.

"Epsilon," the Guardian called, ignoring Wrex's question for the moment. "Is this the control room?"

"According to the schematics that our employer provided us with, yes." The little AI said, appearing above its Guardian's shoulder, swiveling about and regarding its surroundings in silence.

"Then we need to make this quick," the Titan decided, tossing a bag to Wrex, which the Krogan caught with a grunt. "Set up the explosives on the control panels. We can't afford to be as thorough as I'd like to, but if we take our time then this place will become our Stand."

Without a word, Wrex headed off with the explosives, moving from panel to panel as he carefully planted each charge and set their timers to ten minutes. As for the Titan, he remained near the center of the room, his eyes fixated on the monolith. Epsilon flitted around the pillar, blue light flashing from its single eye as it ran several deep scans.

"Atlas," Epsilon cautioned, even as it continued to probe the monolith. "This thing is serving as a gateway. There's something on the other side pushing the Darkness through to this place. I'll see what I can do to sever the... Aaaaaaaand it knows we're here."

Snapping the Invective up to a suitable firing position, Atlas called for his partner to hurry up, only to be answered by a shout of surprise as Wrex fell to the ground, a shadowy mass standing above him.

The creature that had caught the Krogan unawares wore standard Eclipse armor and its general body shape told of Turian origins, but whatever now stood over Wrex, poised to strike a killing blow, was hardly Turian anymore: Its body made a grotesque mockery of the Turian form, its limbs curved in sharp angles, longer than they had any right to be and lined with long claws, jagged and uneven.

It screamed in agony, even before Atlas reduced it to ashes with an incendiary shot from the Invective. Was this the true potential of the Darkness?: To consume the bodies of vulnerable species and pervert them to a new, sinister purpose? These questions whirled about in the Guardian's mind as he hurried to where Wrex lay, pulling the Krogan up by the shoulder. The Battlemaster was visibly shaken by his sudden incapacitation, but sported no injuries.

"Damn thing dropped on me from the ceiling." The Battlemaster admitted, when questioned about what had occurred. A quick scan of the ceiling revealed that there were no more unpleasant surprises lying in wait, ready to descend upon the bounty hunters from above, but Atlas's motion sensors were still alight with numerous contacts.

"Are the explosives set?" Atlas asked, his shotgun now trained on the entrance from which they had come.

"Yeah. Nine minutes left on the timer." Wrex replied as he checked his omni-tool's display.

"Then we need to haul ass," Atlas asserted, moving back to where the control room's reinforced door had once stood. "There's no telling what might try to keep us from escaping."

A scream echoed through the ruined doorway, coming from the other end of the hall, multiplying in volume as dozens more joined it. Not waiting for the enemy to come to him, Atlas charged towards the swarm of Darkness-twisted aberrations, the soles of his armored boots thundering with each stride.

He could see the more specific details of their figures now, the gaunt, eyeless Asaris and the Salarians, whose heads had been split down the middle, from the top to just above the mouth, and hung about the shoulders with drooping eyes. Their screams were of pain and desperation, clawing mindlessly at the air in front of them as if seeking to grip something so that they might be able to better bear their suffering. They reached out, hands grasping, for the Titan's Light as he rushed towards them at a dead sprint. Atlas however, had no intention of granting the agonized souls their wish; all that he could give them was swift mercy.

His Light coalesced on the surface of his armor in great waves of living fire, hissing and snapping as the flaming manifestation of Atlas's power gained hold over Darkness around it. The eager flames now surged forth into the Titan's fist, folding upon themselves and solidifying into a sun kissed, leather bound handle, before moving upwards and hardening into the hyperdense metal that formed beaked head of the Hammer of Sol.

Wrex watched on in amazement as Atlas flung himself against the screeching masses, the flaming hammer that had materialized in his hands crushing bones and charring flesh as the Titan swung the weapon in wide arcs. Atlas, rather than slowing down when he came upon a dense knot of opposition, some twenty odd combatants, he gathered the Light about him and launched himself forward in a blazing inferno, purging and purifying the distance that he crossed.

With a path having been cleared, the flames dissipated to nothingness, and Atlas turned back to his companion, gesturing him to follow. After a few violent shakes to clear his head, Wrex moved down the now empty hallway. Glowing ash floated about his head as he walked. Atlas had reduced nearly forty of the corrupted aliens to drifting particles in a matter of seconds.

"The next group that we run into may be a problem." The Titan cautioned, taking off again at a run.

"What, you run out of juice?" Wrex was looking at Atlas dubiously.

"No, but I would rather not drain myself when we still have a ways to go. Down here, surrounded by the Darkness, my Light cannot replenish itself at its usual rate." That was only part of the truth, of course. Atlas's vast reserves of power had scarcely been depleted by such menial work, and the Titan was well aware of the fact that he could easily keep the Hammer of Sol fueled for the remainder of their mission. He suspected that Wrex was aware of that fact as well, though the Krogan remained silent for the moment.

For the next few minutes the two soldiers retraced their steps, stopping periodically to gun down several mobs of assorted nightmares that lurked in the shadows. There were two minutes left on the clock when the bounty hunters reached the elevator leading back to the surface. A firm hand guided Wrex into the lift as the doors opened, the other hand keeping the Invective aimed down the obscured passage.

Something was coming, about to turn the corner and enter the Titan's line of sight, when Atlas stepped into the elevator and began jabbing repeatedly at the "close door" button. Whatever was following them seethed with anger, not audibly, but in a manner that Atlas could feel even through the metal doors of the elevator. It picked at his mind and groped madly for purchase against the Titan's steel will, though it found none, instead cast away forcefully by a pulse of Light.

"What exactly were those things back there?" Wrex panted, unaware of the brief struggle that had occurred between Atlas and their pursuer.

"They were perversions of the natural form, corrupted by the Darkness." One minute left.

"And this Darkness that you keep going on about, what is it?" Fifty seconds.

"Now isn't the time or place for a full explanation. But, what you need to know for now is that the Darkness is the true Enemy, a threat more dangerous and prevalent than any other that the races of this galaxy have ever known." Twenty seconds.

"I can't wait for the whole story." Ten seconds.

"The whole story spans several hundred years, and may take me upwards of five hours to explain thoroughly." Five seconds.

"Well, if that isn't ominous..." An explosive rumble filled the elevator shaft as the charges, hundreds of meters below them, went off, causing Wrex to stumble against one of the walls.

"It seems that our mission here has killed two birds with one stone: we get our paycheck, and the monolith has been destroyed."

"What was so important about that monolith?"

"Something was using it as a gateway, a hole through which the Darkness was able to seep and taint the facility."

"I see." Wrex didn't, though to be fair, Atlas didn't fully understand how the monolith had acted in such a manner either. He normally left that kind of work to the Warlocks.

The rest of the elevator ride was spent in silence, Wrex giving suspicious, sidelong glances at the Guardian, while Atlas himself was lost in thought. With the appearance of the monolith, Atlas now knew that the Enemy had set its sights on this galaxy, for one reason or another, though either way his duty remained the same. Fortifications would have to be built, strongholds erected, armies mustered. This was not the kind of information that he could simply present to any of the proper authorities and not end up as a prisoner, with all of his secrets laid bare and his mission compromised.

Atlas knew that he would have to take this underground, work from the shadows to prepare for the coming threat, and he would need someone with the right connections. Luckily for the Titan, a certain Krogan bounty hunter already fit most of the requirements for that job.

 **First off, I'm really sorry for the delayed upload, and as much as I would like to blame it on my senior paper, I haven't really been working on that either. This chapter mostly just sets up the reasoning behind the path that Atlas is about to go down, upon which there will be a lot of mercenary work, a lot of bloodshed, and a lot of headbutts. I wanted to give Atlas some sense of urgency to get things done in this new Galaxy, especially since I want him to have built up a galactic presence by the time the First Contact War begins.**

 **If you have some criticism or suggestion, feel free to leave it in a review. If you enjoyed the chapter and just want to say so, feel free to leave that in a review as well.**

 **I'll see you guys in the next chapter, and hopefully in a timely manner.**


	4. Chapter 4

1.6.2156 CE. Crescent Nebula. Tasale System. Illium.

"Alright, explain." Wrex's fist smacked the instrument panel in the Damsel's cockpit for emphasis as he glared at Atlas expectantly. The human in question raised an eyebrow at his partner's actions before resuming typing away on a datapad. Things had been quiet aboard the Damsel following the previous day's events, in which the two bounty hunters had completed their mission to Sekhmet and discovered the Darkness fueled monolith buried beneath the planet. In fact, the Krogan's forceful demand was the first time either of the two had spoken in the past twenty four hours.

"Where do you want me to start?" The Guardian's voice was resigned, almost tired, as he swiveled his chair to face Wrex; this was a tale that equally drained and saddened him.

"We have time," the Krogan gestured at the busy cityscape sprawling before them. "The Encorp representative won't be meeting us for few hours, so start from the beginning."

The beginning. There were so many holes in Atlas's knowledge of his people's history, an annoyance which he often felt scratching at his thoughts. It was as if each Guardian held only one piece of the puzzle that when assembled forms a beautiful picture, and even if every single Guardian to have ever been reborn put all of their collective pieces together, the puzzle would remain incomplete.

"A great deal of knowledge was lost during the Collapse, including much of Humanity's early history."

"Your people have no knowledge of their ancestors?" Wrex seemed rather uneasy at the implication. To a Krogan, the deeds and triumphs of their race in battle were a critical part of their culture, and to lack knowledge of those glories was taboo, to say the least.

"To an extent. Many of the great libraries on Earth survived the war that brought us to our knees, and the scavengers that followed." After all, the Titan Orders were a fusion of the knights of the Medieval Age and the warrior elite of the twenty first century. "According to records from our First Contact, when we found the Traveler on Mars, the fourth planet from our sun, we were awed by its presence, the presence of a god. During the Golden Age we made undreamt advances in all fields of science and expanded our influence beyond the Sol System. Under the Traveler's protection and guidance, we felt ourselves invincible against whatever horrors the night might hold. Of course, all good things must come to an end, and eventually the night came calling."

"The Darkness." Wrex concluded.

"The Darkness," Atlas confirmed, nodding his head. "Beings such as the Traveler cannot exist without an enemy of equal, opposite, power. The full details of the Collapse were lost in the flames, and we may never know for certain what happened, but many theories have been put forth. Saint-14, the legendary Exo Titan who brought the House of Devils to heel, believed that the Darkness was an invading armada of immense, but tangible power, a theory that I happen to agree with. However, there are others who believe that whatever brought about our fall was another deity, a being not of Light, but of Darkness. All that we do know, though it has recently been held in contention, is that the Traveler sacrificed itself to save us from total annihilation."

"That's about as terrifying as thinking about why the Protheans disappeared. What's the more popular theory?"

"Among most Titans and Hunters, the former. Among the Warlocks, the latter. Warlocks prefer to deal with the intangible, an enemy that only they, as our foremost experts on the Light, can comprehend."

"They seem a bit like the Salarians to me."

"Perhaps, though I have met many Warlocks who agree with Saint-14's theory. The warrior-scholars of the Praxic Order focus more on bringing the Light to our enemies than they do on theoretical research."

"So, Warlocks are your equivalent to scientists?"

"It's a close enough analogy if we only take into consideration their work on the practical applications of the Light, but we do have dedicated, non-Guardian scientists. Warlocks understand the Light better than anyone else, and spend most of their immortal lives studying it. As for Hunters, they are as their name implies. They are our eyes and ears beyond the City's walls, charged with information retrieval and the elimination of high value targets."

"Hunters, Titans and Warlocks... anything else that I should know about?"

"There is the Speaker, the Traveler's representative, who guides newborn Guardians down whatever path they have chosen. And, while the Speaker may be a central figure to the Guardians of the Tower, domestic authority lies with the Consensus, an alliance of the various factions of the City, and military authority lies with the Vanguard."

"Makes sense: you wouldn't want any one person to have too much power."

"Indeed." Atlas agreed, though from the look in his eyes he was far away, lost in his thoughts. So, even though he would normally refrain from doing so, but seeing as how Atlas had agreed to explain everything to him, Wrex decided to press the matter.

"You've got a history with leadership?"

"You could say that, I suppose."

"Keep going."

"Shortly after my rebirth, I was recruited by the Firebreak Order, made up of Titans who believe that the best way to defend the City is to take the fight away from its walls and into the heart of our enemy. My abilities, however, caught the attention of Lord Saladin Forge, the Master of the Iron Banner and a hero of the Battle of the Twilight Gap." Atlas examined the Wolfswood insignia on the visor of his helmet, peering deep into its memories. "I spent many years under his tutelage, honing my skills and growing my powers. And, when the decision was made by the Vanguard to retake Mars from the Cabal, Lord Saladin suggested that I be the one to lead our armies."

"Then what's the problem? You clearly didn't fuck up too badly, not with your talents."

"No, the reclamation campaign went smoothly, better than anyone could have anticipated. The Cabal presence on Mars had already been decimated by Oryx's brood, and the survivors were easy pickings. We suffered no casualties."

"You think that you didn't deserve the victory." It wasn't a question.

"I think that people overestimate me, think me capable of things that I don't know if I can do."

"Whaddya mean?"

"After Mars, many of the Titan orders looked up to me as a leader to spearhead not just the reclamation of Earth, but the reclamation of the Sol System. But, I'm not that person."

"Heh. You're an idiot is what you are." To this Atlas merely raised an eyebrow, awaiting Wrex's explanation.

"You can't see what's right in front of you." The Battlemaster snorted, continuing on. "Any leader who pulls his soldiers through a planet-wide campaign without a single casualty needs some degree of luck, but without the know-how to capitalize on that luck, none if it matters."

"Thanks, Wrex. I will certainly still have to think upon these doubts further, but your words have given me some refreshing insight."

"No problem. Alright, that's enough history for me." Atlas rolled his eyes at the Krogan's impatience. "What exactly happened back on Sekhmet?"

"I did not withhold anything about the monolith; even I have little knowledge of how or why it was there."

"I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about the power that you used against those... things. I know that you weren't even close to running out of juice, not when you caused that much destruction without breaking a sweat."

And there it was, the question that Atlas had been hoping to avoid, not for fear of the sensitive nature of the matter, but for the shame that the truth held. It was a truth that was kept from most Guardians, and most Guardians would have no reason to stumble upon such a morbid revelation, or even be able to.

"What I am about to tell you," Atlas started, breaking eye contact and looking back out of the window, gazing mournfully at the glowing, neon landscape outside. "You may take however you like, but I implore you to listen all the same."

Ashes, they layered upon the Titan's guilt, smothering his conscience with the still warm embers of the dead. It had been his greatest failure, both to himself and his duty.

"In a way, the Light and the Darkness are two sides of the same coin: both share a common desire to consume whatever is laid before them, though they go about it in very different ways." Atlas paused to clear his throat, wincing at how dry his mouth had suddenly gone. "I was out exploring the European Dead Zone, some thirty years ago, when I happened upon a small settlement in the ruins of Paris, besieged by the Fallen, who a race of alien scavengers that once stood where Humanity does now, under the Traveler's Light, but were cast out and have since found favor with the Darkness."

"They were cast out?"

"Yes." Atlas saw no need to expand on the subject quite yet. "When I came upon the Fallen they were wholly preoccupied with breaking down the settlement's front gate, so they were caught unawares when I engaged them. The fight was going well until they deployed a Walker Tank, and by then, I was running out of time if I wanted to keep the settlers alive. So, like with what happened earlier, I unleashed my Light and routed the Fallen, only I didn't stop there."

Wrex was already beginning to see where this was going, and how close to death he had been back down in the mining facility, not because of the malignant force that had surrounded him, but because of the one shielding him from it.

"In order to destroy the Walker Tank I used the Fist of Havoc, which turns its caster into a living projectile of Light. I poured all of my Light into that one strike, and unwittingly broke through my subconscious restraints."

"You overexerted yourself. So what?"

"There are certain Guardians, risen through legend, who possess more Light than most could even imagine. As a result, whenever they unleash their power, they run the risk of being consumed. The Light fills them with the power to strike down gods, but in return they must give up a piece of themselves in sacrifice, a piece of themselves that the Light burns away."

"You're one of those Guardians"

"Yes. Normally, unleashing my Light would prove no issue since other Guardians are the only non-hostiles around me, and can withstand its power. But, when presented with anything foreign, different, the Light sees only kindling for the flames. That day, it was not the Darkness that those settlers had to fear, but myself."

"But, you've learned to how to control it since then, right?" Wrex asked, reminding Atlas of the fact that he hadn't disintegrated the Krogan back on Sekhmet.

"Partially. I can still unleash my Light and not run the risk of completely losing control so long as it is only for a brief period. When using the Hammer of Sol, the power that you witnessed during our escape, I am more likely to lose myself than with any of my other powers. The thrill of battle is only amplified by the destructive power that it gives me, and I grow wont to allow the flames to consume whatever they wish."

The Titan was mostly finished with his explanation by then, and searched Wrex's face for the Krogan's response. Wrex was, to say the least, somewhat nonplussed.

"Well, at least my death would have been accidental." That certainly wasn't what Atlas had expected as a response, not with the chuckle that came along with it.

"This isn't something to jest about, Wrex. If you want to turn away now, I understand, so long as you vow to keep my secrets my own."

"Heh," Wrex scoffed. "Most people would have turned away the second the shit hit the fan back on Sekhmet, but those people are idiots. I might not fully understand your dogmas or your powers, but I have the feeling that whatever it is you plan on doing, it'll change everything."

"So, you're still on board?" Atlas asked, raising an eyebrow. Then again, he should have expected this from the battle-loving dinosaur.

"Sure, so long as you don't plan on resurrecting the Rachni Wars."

"And if I told you that I plan to start a war?"

"Uhh." The Krogan's face went slack with surprise.

"Eclipse. I'm going to start a war with Eclipse."

"Oh," Wrex sighed, relieved. "And why, exactly, are you going to war with the biggest merc group in the galaxy?"

"Because, Wrex, it's easier to break down, dismantle, and assimilate an army than it is to raise one from scratch. Besides, it'll be more fun this way."

"And what on Tuchanka could you possibly need an army for?"

"You saw what the Darkness was capable of, back there on Sekhmet."

"Oh." Realization dawned on the Krogan's face.

"What changed those mercenaries was simply a passive effect of the Darkness. Its vanguard will come next, in whatever form that might take, bringing with it the true agents of the Darkness, and the end of civilization as you know it."

"Then we should inform the Council, or the Turians, or someone!" Even as the words left the Krogan's mouth he knew that what he had suggested was pointless.

"No, Wrex, we can't. At best we would end up in an asylum, at worst a dissecting table. Have some faith in me. After all, I do have some experience with warfare."

"I don't doubt that, but two against a few million?"

"Its nothing as daunting as that, though I would love to test those odds."

"We have tested those odds, Atlas." Epsilon interjected, glaring in annoyance at its Guardian.

"Ignore Epsilon," Atlas said with a wave of his hand. "I'll get into the specifics after we finish up with our meeting here, but the general idea is that we cut the head off of the snake and install one of our own. I don't actually plan on dismantling them from the ground up."

"Sounds real simple," Wrex muttered. "All we have to do is not die in the process..."

An alert from Atlas's omni-tool prevented Wrex from snarking any further and the Titan brought up the notification to read it. It was the Encorp representative.

"Time to go, Wrex." The message had instructed the bounty hunters to head to a small cafe on the other side of Nos Astra, known for its Asari curry dishes. Apparently, a love for spicy foods extended not just to humans, but to aliens as well.

Gesturing for his partner to follow, Atlas stood up from his chair, donning his helmet and gathering his weapons, which he strapped to his person before exiting the Damsel. The Nos Astra air was strange, sweet, even through his helmet's filters. He had grown used to the stale taste of recycled oxygen over his various deployments to Humanity's former colonies.

Walking, he could see that most of the inhabitants of Nos Astra were Asari, though that came as no real surprise seeing as how Ilium was an Asari colony. In typical Asari fashion, the buildings were simple, but elegant, sprawling, but organized. Compared to the Last City, much of which was an impoverished ghetto, the residential high rises of Nos Astra were breathtaking.

To the Titan's surprise, most of the security personnel were synthetics, as far as he could tell. These people seemed to have no trouble entrusting their personal safety to artificial hands, but were paranoid of artificial minds? It was peculiar, to say the least. He wondered, idly, if the security drones had marked him as a threat.

"Huh, I'm usually the one getting stared at." Wrex commented, taking note of the various strangers staring blatantly at Atlas. As for the Titan himself, he was somewhat preoccupied by lone Hanar which had been following the bounty hunters from the landing bays.

"I don't mind the stares, but that Hanar is rather unsettling."

"Didn't figure you for a racist." Wrex said jokingly.

"It feels odd... odd, but familiar." The Titan knew that it was a puzzle that would have to wait, seeing as how they had barely enough wiggle room to make it to their meeting on time.

"Alright then, let's not think about how Hanars feel." Wrex muttered, making a face.

"Not like that, you reprobate. It's emitting an aura, one that reminds me faintly of the Traveler's Light, though something seems to have diluted it." Turning his gaze away from the walking jellyfish, Atlas picked up his pace, urging his partner on with a few choice words.

The rest of their walk to the cafe remained uneventful, even if Atlas felt the Hanar's faceless stare against the back of his head for the entirety of it. When they finally reached the designated meeting place, the Encorp representative was waiting for them, sitting alone at a table with a glass of blue liquor in hand.

"Enala T'mor," the Asari announced, rising from her seat as the two bounty hunters approached. "I took the liberty of ordering for the two of you, to speed things up of course."

Atlas looked at Wrex and shrugged. Neither of them were particularly well versed in Asari cuisine, though Wrex looked slightly indignant that T'mor had assumed so. With a doubtful look at the chair in front of him, Atlas gently lowered himself onto the seat, wincing as it groaned under the weight of his armor. His armor... shit.

"Will you not take off your helmet, ma'am?" The Encorp representative asked, raising a dubious eyebrow as she took note of Atlas's strange armor.

"Err, bad burn scarring, incendiary grenade. I'll just take mine to go and eat later. I'd rather not put anyone off of their meal." If he did remove his helmet, the Titan was sure that he would probably cause a few of the cafe's patrons to die from shock induced choking.

"Of course, pardon me." Atlas was sure that the Asari didn't care either way. "Our agents on Sekhmet have confirmed that the Eclipse base was destroyed, and the mining operation shut down."

"You sent people to confirm?" Wrex was somewhat agitated by the lack of trust afforded to the duo by their employer.

"Yes. To it simply, our CEO wanted more than just your word that the mission had been successfully completed."

"Bah." The Krogan knew that saying anything more might cause a revocation of their payment, and draw the Titan's ire as well.

"I would expect nothing less." Atlas said, speaking at the same time and over his partner. Atlas himself knew that any corporate entity would never trust someone's given word alone, especially when money was at the heart of the matter. The City's foundries were no exception, placing specialized trackers on their test weapons to ensure that Guardians didn't accidentally hold on to them permanently.

"Good. Now, onto your payment." T'mor paused as a waitress came by with their food, waiting for the waitress to leave before continuing. "The agreed upon amount has already been deposited into your accounts, but there is another matter that I would like to discuss."

"And what would that be?" Atlas wondered. It certainly wasn't about their payment; Epsilon had notified him privately while the Asari was speaking that the funds had been transferred, as promised.

"We would like to contract the two of you for the indefinite future, for any other problems that might arise." Sensing Atlas's nonplussed expression even behind his visor, she hurriedly added, "You will be paid even when you aren't running missions, of course."

"No," Atlas replied as both he and Wrex shook their heads in disagreement. "I already have prior obligations, though if you do require our services then I'm sure that we can find the time."

The Titan was sure that if Wrex's mouth wasn't already filled with curry, the Krogan would have shot down the offer with harsher words than the ones that Atlas had replied with. Wrex wasn't the kind of person to look at any semblance of domesticated life kindly, even if said domesticated life meant being a corporate hitman.

"I understand completely." The expression on the Encorp representative's face said anything but. "Once again, Encorp would like to thank you for your services, and we hope to work with you again in the future."

"As do we." Atlas motioned at Wrex, who had a content look on his face as he gazed sleepily at his now empty plate, to get ready to leave.

They sat there for a minute, passing the time in silence as the waitress retrieved Atlas's untouched plate and packed its contents into a takeout box. When the waitress came back to their table and handed the small, plastic container to Atlas, the bounty hunters rose and bid the Asari contact farewell before walking off, headed back to where they had left the Damsel. The enticing aroma of spice and grilled meat tingled at the Titan's nose as they walked, and Atlas winced as his stomach growled audibly.

The helmet would definitely be an issue during any future social interactions, the Titan realized. He made a note to himself to never again accept a meal invitation, lest he be forced to ignore a perfectly appetizing course for far too long. That was one of the things currently filling his thoughts, the other thing being the Hanar, which was following them again.

By that point Atlas was through with ignoring the strange alien, and turned on it confrontationally. The pink xenos didn't shrink back in alarm however, instead coming closer to the Titan so that Atlas felt that his personal space was being invaded. Lowering its "head" in a gesture that Atlas thought might be respect, the Hanar spoke.

"Lightbringer, This one is unworthy of your presence, unworthy to bask in your light."

"Uhhh," Atlas mumbled, open mouthed, not exactly sure how he should respond. "Thank you?"

While the Hanar blubbered a response in near hysteria, Atlas reached out with his Light, tasting the alien's strange aura. It was familiar, without a doubt, and the Guardian's growing suspicion was becoming more sure by the second. Aboard a Wolf Ketch, one as old as the Whirlwind itself, he had felt an aura similar, but not quite the same, to the one before him. There were faint traces of Light that glowed dimly within the Hanar's essence, though it was repressed and chained by some primordial means.

The Fallen, former warrior-servants of the Traveler, had had their Light torn from them so that only faint traces of it remained, forever reminding them of their great betrayal. But, this strange, exotic creature before him could not possibly be compared to the former nobility of the Eliksni, who had waged system spanning wars in the name of their one-time god.

And so, the ultimate reason for the creature's familiarity with the Light remained a mystery, though it at least confirmed that the Traveler, or one of its agents, had once come through this galaxy.

"What are we going to do with this guy?" Wrex whispered. Atlas turned his attention back to the Hanar which, much to Atlas's displeasure was still rambling on, its gaze fixed on the Titan.

Maybe he could get it to stop talking and go away? Reaching out, he placed one hand atop the Hanar's head, allowing his Light to brush briefly against the alien's soul. If Atlas had to guess, the Hanar's face was glowing with pure ecstasy, having practically been blessed by someone who it most likely saw as a deity.

"What is your name?" Atlas asked, after a moment had passed and the Hanar had calmed a bit.

"This one's name is Blasto." It replied with newfound vigor, staring up at the Guardian in awe.

"Well then, Blasto, I must ask of you that you never tell another living soul about what has just transpired here. My mission on behalf of the Light requires a certain element of discretion, and your silence about my presence here would be most appreciated." Atlas knew that the little alien was probably dying to tell the rest of the galaxy about its encounter, but he also knew that its fanaticism would keep it quiet.

"Of course, Lightbringer. This one will never reveal its knowledge of your sacred mission, even in death."

"I thought so," the Titan muttered under his breath. "Thank you, Blasto. May our paths cross again someday."

Turning away in exasperation, Atlas and Wrex left the Hanar in its stupor of amazement. Wrex wasn't quite sure what to make of their strange encounter, but he did not find himself pressed to pursue an answer. Anything with the mental capacity of a Varren could see that there was a quality of primeval power hanging about the Guardian, and with the strange customs of the Hanar race, such a reaction to Atlas's presence came as no surprise.

To Atlas however, his brief but enlightening interaction with Blasto reminded him of some of the City's stranger cults. There were, of course, Guardians who viewed the Light in a way that resembled the religions that had once existed before the Traveler's arrival, but they were few and far between. The Light, like the Darkness, was ancient, born before the formation of the first celestial bodies and fated to endure until time immemorium. It was a font of raw, untamed power, a weapon of unimaginable destruction, not a deity to be worshipped.

Wrex, perhaps sensing Atlas's disturbance through the man's silence, wisely chose not to question him about the matter. The Battlemaster could accept that there might be polar entities such as the Light and the Darkness waging an endless war in some distant galaxy, but he was not quite prepared to accept the reality that vestiges of that conflict existed in his own.

"Atlas," Epsilon said, its voice coming in through the Titan's helmet and cutting through the silence. "I've finished compiling the data on Eclipse operations that you asked for. You can view it on your omni-tool."

"Thank you, Epsilon." The Guardian replied, pulling up his omni-tool and opening the file containing the relevant information. During the extended quietude following the bounty hunting duo's departure from Sekhmet, Atlas had asked his Ghost to start gathering information on all known Eclipse leaders, operatives, and associates, in preparation for the coming war.

"So, where do we start?" Wrex asked, unfazed, ever the consummate professional.

"We need to start bleeding their resources, open up a hole in their operations that will require supervision from the higher-ups to repair."

"You want to draw out the leaders." The Battlemaster realized.

"Yes, and it will certainly make the rest of the plan much easier. After all, once we gain control of the organization, we will need to fill the captaincy positions with new blood if we want to avoid any unpleasant complications."

"Makes sense, so what's the target?"

"Eclipse has too many eyes and ears on Ilium for my liking. I'll tell you more when we get back to the Damsel."

"Can't wait."

"Well, it certainly won't be as exciting as you think."

"Huh?"

"All in good time, Wrex."

 **Meanwhile, back on the Damsel**

Epsilon sighed, bored, as it sifted through terabyte after terabyte of digital information on the Extranet, all of it obtained illegally, of course. The latest files, belonging to one of the largest banks on the Citadel, contained the combined assets and finances of four different Eezo mining companies that acted as fronts for the largest mercenary group in the known galaxy: Eclipse.

The files had all been heavily encrypted, some of them protected by security algorithms that had probably cost a small fortune, but for the little AI that had once bypassed the firewalls of a Golden Age Warmind, everything else was child's play by comparison. And now, Epsilon was reaping the rewards of its talents, accessing and scattering several billion credits from twenty different account, all of them used for funding Eclipse operations. If that didn't get their attention, then the Ghost would have to resort to more chaotic methods, with enough collateral damage to send the combined economies of the Citadel races into one big recession. Being ignored was one of Epsilon's more vexing pet peeves.

Luckily for the galactic economy, Atlas had given his Ghost very specific instruction to not cause a galaxy-wide panic, and so Epsilon was forced to wait, carefully monitoring Eclipse communications across a wide spectrum. Someone would have to notice soon, maybe in the next few seconds?

Doing a little whirl in the stale air of the Damsel's cargo hold, Epsilon turned its attention back to the gaming platform that it had convinced Atlas to buy. While it waited for a reaction from Eclipse, the Ghost was sure that it could fit in a few games of N7 Code of Honor, Medal of Duty. Epsilon suspected that Infiltrait0rN7, the top ranked player on every server across the galaxy, was some kind of hacker using an advanced VI, and Epsilon was determined to usurp his throne.

In the time that it took the game to boot up, the Ghost had already connected itself directly to the servers, ensuring a lag-free session, and formulated the most effective starting routes and spawn traps for a shotgun user. Needless to say, the hyperaware AI was about to ruin many a player's day.

Fortunately for gamers everywhere, Epsilon's digital killing spree was brought to an end after only four games, when Atlas and Wrex came back aboard the ship. The Krogan was practically bouncing with anticipation, waiting to hear Atlas's master plan, while the Titan himself simply walked over to the mini-vault in the cargo-bay and retrieved a large, chilled bottle of Paige. The stout, a deep brown liquid that hissed in carbonic release when Atlas opened it, was bitter to the point of making most people want to wretch and vomit after ingesting the drink. Atlas, however, exhaled contentedly upon finishing a rather large swig. Just the taste of it stirred a faint smile in the Guardian's heart, reminding him of a certain friend with whom he had once shared a bottle of that same stout with, a friend whom he would never see again.

The smile faded from him, and he went to join Wrex in the cockpit, absentmindedly beckoning for Epsilon to follow. Seeing its Guardian's emotional state, Epsilon, with firm gentleness, butted the side of Atlas's head.

"Sorry." Atlas murmered, realizing that he had been projecting his sorrow so outwardly.

"You'll see her again, Atlas." Epsilon reassured him.

"Perhaps, but for the forseeable future we are stuck here, in this strange place, and may not return home for decades. She could be old and withered by then."

Shaking his head, reprimanding himself, Atlas entered the cockpit to the sight of Wrex playing idly with his omni-tool. The Battlemaster looked up expectantly as the Titan entered, and as Atlas took a seat, demanded an explanation of their plan.

"As we were walking back from the meeting, Epsilon was finishing up the first part of the plan."

"And what's that?"

"Provoking a reaction. Epsilon just seized and dispersed some six billion credits that were being used to fund Eclipse operation."

"No shit. And now we wait?"

"That pretty much sums it up."

"Aww."

"Things like this take time, Wrex. Eclipse might not even respond to this in any

actionable way, which in turn might..." Atlas's prediction was cut off by synthetic cackling, courtesy of Epsilon.

"Atlas," the Ghost said after it had calmed itself by a reasonable degree. "Sederis

just sicced her second-in-command on the Volus banker who was in charge of the money."

"Can we get to this banker before Eclipse does?"

"We're going to put ourselves between an Eclipse hit squad and their target?" Wrex asked, dubiously.

"Well, Wrex, this situation is more to our favor than almost any other that I could have forced. Marius Vitellus, the Eclipse second-in-command, isn't particularly ambitious or loyal, which makes him the perfect candidate to be my puppet."

"And how exactly do you plan on converting this Turian to your cause? You said it yourself; he isn't particularly loyal."

"Those who have little loyalty for others tend to hold their own lives in the utmost importance. I will teach him fear undreamt, foreign to even the darkest of nightmares."

"If that isn't cryptic..."

"It is what it is. He will be too scared to even consider betraying me."

"Oh, I don't doubt it."

The disillusioned Guardian was not above using tactics that some of the more righteous Titans might find unsavory, but those who did often had a binary view of the world. Atlas knew that, as the Light's sword, his duties would never allow him to view the world in such a limited spectrum. Victory over the Darkness came before all else, no matter the consequences.

"So," Wrex asked, finally. "Where exactly is this banker?"

"On the Citadel." This from Epsilon.

"Well," Atlas sighed, massaging his jaw along the right side of his face, at the hinge where it connected to the rest of his skull, which made a popping noise every time he yawned. "We may not be able to remain as inconspicuous as I might have wished."

"What's wrong with a little display of force? It might even draw out Sederis herself."

"While I am not averse to the application of overwhelming force, if our interception of the Eclipse hit-team goes awry and I am required to use any of my powers, then our movements could come under the scrutiny of several influential organizations."

"The Spectres?"

"Yes, to name one of the many."

"Hmph. I feel like a fugitive, and we haven't even broken any laws yet!"

"Yet?"

"We are going to be breaking at least a few laws, right?"

"Lawbreaking does fall within the realm of possibility."

The Krogan's face practically gleamed with joy, giddy at the prospect of causing a bit of mayhem. Atlas, however, knew that this would mark the beginning of a journey from which there was no return. He knew not whether his bid for power was in the right, but he knew that it was something that must be done. If the races of this galaxy were to have any hope of surviving the coming storm, the Guardian would do whatever he must.

 **I definitely remember saying that I hoped to get this chapter done in a timely manner, which obviously didn't happen, so sorry about that. I don't really have much of an excuse other than that I was busy with school. The next chapter will be a little different and some new characters will be introduced, and I've already started it, so that might actually be up by next week. For those of you who reviewed the last chapter and didn't get a response from me, I'm really sorry about that too. I read all of them, but I just didn't get around to replying to a bunch of them.**

 **Again, feel free to leave a review saying what you thought about the chapter, be it good or bad.**

 **Thank you all, and hopefully I'll see you guys in the next chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5

1.6.2156 CE. Sol System. Earth. The Tower. Hall of Guardians.

"Damn you, Zavala!" Iratus growled, slamming his fist down on the plasteel conference table, which dented under the weight of the Titan's fury. The raging Guardian, garbed in ornate armor upon which living flames seemed to leap from, glared at his counterpart, daring the bald-headed Awoken to respond. The two of them had been at each other's throats for the better part of the past week, though it had been a rather one-sided affair; everywhere he went, Zavala had been forced to weather the veritable storm that was Iratus.

"I'm sorry, Iratus, but with the resurgence of the Cabal I cannot spare the manpower to investigate Atlas's disappearance." The Vanguard Mentor sighed inwardly as he glanced out of one of the massive windows in the Hall of Guardians, through which the Titan could see green valleys sitting beneath the looming shadows of snow-capped mountains.

Iratus's eyes flashed dangerously, seething with Light visible even through the polarized visor that he wore. Such were the exasperations of dealing with a Titan of the Firebreak Order.

"And that's all the more reason to be out there searching for him! Ever since he disappeared, morale has fallen, especially amongst the fireteams patrolling our borders!"

"The Guardians watching our borders know full well the risks of their station."

"And It is because of that knowledge that they fear our enemy all the more. With our greatest champion missing, the one who toppled Oryx from his throne and broke the Cabal on Mars, who do they have to turn to? This new Cabal fleet is larger than the occupation force on Mars was" Zavala could not deny this truth. It was Atlas's presence at the front lines that gave even the most disillusioned Guardians the resolve to fight with renewed vigor, and without him the long night had taken on an even darker hue.

"Iratus, I know that you and Atlas were close, but the battle is about to come to our doorstep." Iratus was one of the few surviving Guardians who had served long enough with Atlas to have witnessed almost all of the man's numerous exploits. Together, the two of them had conquered the Vault of Glass, cast down the Knight God of the Hive, unseated the Taken Throne, and reclaimed the Lost City of Freehold. Those kinds of shared triumphs tended to form unshakable bonds of loyalty between soldiers, a fact which Zavala was now painfully experiencing.

"I have not forgotten my oaths, Zavala, but I will not forsake hope for a future- an end to this war."

"What you speak of is tantamount to treason!"

"To whom? The Vanguard? The Consensus? The Speaker?" Iratus shouted, his volume rising with each word. "To hold our current course is treason to the Light!"

"Following him out into the Darkness risks everything!" Zavala growled, his normally reserved expression giving way to a white hot glare. If nothing else, the two Titans in the room were fundamentally opposed to each other.

"What is it that you fear so much? The Speaker's retribution, or your own weakness?"

"You go too far!"

"I haven't even gotten started!"

"Enough!"

Both of the enraged Titans whirled on the unexpected intruder, Zavala's expression regaining its former composure while Iratus's frown was only somewhat mollified. The newcomer was no stranger to either of the two Guardians, for both of them had undergone the man's tutelage at one point in time.

"Apologies, Lord Saladin, I did not notice your arrival."

"Please tell baldy here that he's an idiot."

Lord Saladin glared at the young Firebreak officer, who rolled his eyes, before nodding to Zavala. Saladin's former protege snapped to attention in the presence of his mentor, though his face was plastered with mild embarrassment at being caught in the midst of such a heated argument. One of Saladin's first lessons had been to never lose composure. To do so was wasteful, both of time and of efficiency, like an immature child.

"Cayde and Ikora will be joining us shortly," the Master of the Iron Banner announced. "So put to rest whatever fire has caught between you two- your behavior is unbecoming of leaders."

"Of course."

"Tch. Next time, baldy, next time."

The sound of footfalls cutting through the din of technicians at work in the Hall of Guardians signalled the arrival of the other two Vanguard Mentors, who walked into the meeting room with stylistically different entrances.

"Did'ya miss me?" Cayde's cloak fluttered roguishly in some unfelt breeze, though that might have been due to the micro-fans that the Exo Hunter had installed into his armor. At his hip was the infamous hand-cannon, The Ace of Spades, which he rested his shooting hand on while he waved the other in the air as a greeting. Ignoring the angry staring contest between Zavala and Iratus, Cayde took his usual place to the right of Awoken, who was standing at the far end of the rectangular table in the center of the room.

"Now that we're all here, shall we get started?" Ikora's serene voice put an end to the staring contest as she moved to Zavala's left, so that she stood next to Iratus. Her head, like Zavala's, was bald, and the top of her scalp shined under the overhead lights.

"Yes, let us commence with this meeting." Lord Saladin declared, folding his hands behind his back as his Ghost appeared, hovering over his shoulder. "I'm sure that you've all heard by now of the recently arrived Cabal fleet, but we've had a new development."

Saladin's Ghost projected a three dimensional image of several Cabal capital ships centered in the middle of the table, their holographic bulk orbiting the much larger figure of Oryx's Dreadnaught. The image changed after a moment to show the metal skeletons of dropships and destroyers whose outer platings were in the process of being pieced together.

Worried looks came over the faces of the Vanguard Mentors, though whatever reaction played out beneath Saladin's visor was well hidden, the stillness of his body betraying nothing. As for Iratus, a predatory growl escaped his throat and he clenched his hands into fists.

What business could the Cabal have with that monstrous construct of the Hive? The question ran through the minds of each of the gathered, with every imagined scenario growing more distressing by the second. Oryx's Taken had annihilated the Cabal fleet base on Phobos and decimated their main force on Mars. The Cabal had responded with a counterattack on orders from their Emperor, ramming their warship _Dantalion Exodus VI_ into the Dreadnaught to board to Hive fortress. Their counterattack, led by Primus Ta'aun, the only surviving Primus in the system, and his shield brothers, Valus Mau'ual and Valus Tlu'urn, had ultimately failed, breaking the final links in the Legion's chain of command.

So, from where had these new warships come from, and on whose orders?

The Cabal ships were not from one single Legion. Indeed, the heraldry of these new Legions were unknown to all present in the Hall. These foreboding omens had been seen once before, at the Battle of the Twilight Gap- the City's darkest hour. Saladin could see grim trepidation on the faces of the, by comparison, young Guardians before him. Cayde, Zavala and Ikora had all taken up leadership roles during that crucial battle, but Iratus had merely been a newborn at the time, with only a rudimentary grasp on the tactical facets of war. And, since then, the City had not been forced to fight another large scale defensive action.

Despite his personal reservations about the Firebreak officer's overly reckless behavior, Saladin could not deny that the man had been a good student, and had taken to learning every aspect of battle with unrivalled enthusiasm. Iratus had finally stepped out of Atlas's looming shadow during the Vanguard's reclamation of Mars, and the City would need all of her warriors if it were to pass this latest trial.

"When was this?" Iratus asked.

"Two hours ago." Saladin answered, gesturing at the timestamps.

"At the rate that they're going, their ship numbers will outnumber ours." Cayde muttered, squinting his eyes as he concentrated.

"We won't be able to match their fleet in firepower, even with the aid of Dead Orbit's fleet." Ikora's grim assessment of the situation only served to dampen the mood further.

"If we send fireteams to harry them, destroy their shipyards, we could buy ourselves some more time." Zavala suggested.

"And send our Guardians to pointless deaths?" Iratus growled.

"Iratus is right," Saladin conceded. "Their fleet is untouchable by our fighter craft, and our time would be best put to use shoring up the defenses. Hunter teams should be deployed to monitor the enemy's progress, but attacking the Cabal fleet will yield nothing but death for the Guardians we send."

"We'll never be ready in time." Ikora whispered, grimacing.

"Indeed," the Master of the Iron Banner agreed. "But, we have to try."

At was at this point that Iratus saw his opportunity to strike, now that there were more sympathetic faces in the room and the full severity of the situation had made itself known. Raising his voice with all of the strength that he could muster, he spoke.

"There is another way!" The other Guardians in the room turned to look at him with curious eyes, all save for Zavala, who only sighed in resignation.

"And what might that be, Iratus?" Saladin wondered.

"Atlas. We send fireteams out to search for Atlas."

Atlas... Saladin's heart grew heavy at the mention of his now missing student. The boy had shown such promise, such potential, of whom the likes of which had not been seen since the legendary heroes of Six Fronts.

The future Slayer of Oryx had first come to his attention during one particular Crucible match, where Atlas had managed to hold his own against Shaxx in single combat. It had been a difficult process convincing Atlas, at the time a member of the Firebreak Order, to become his pupil under the watchful eye of the Iron Banner, and Atlas had refused to go without Iratus, the closest of his brothers in arms.

While Atlas had mellowed out to a respectable degree, the roaring flame of the Firebreak Order had never been waned in his brother. That difference, however, had done nothing to affect the strength of the two's bond, which was apparent even now, decades later.

"Iratus, enough of this foolish idea!" Zavala said, chastising the Firebreak officer's proposal. The Awoken Titan looked up expectantly at his former mentor, waiting to see similar disapproval in Lord Saladin's body language.

Zavala's hopes were dashed when the Master of the Iron Banner raised one hand to his chin as he weighed Iratus's idea.

"Find him."

"Of course, I will prepare my ship at once." At this, Saladin shook his head.

"Not you, Iratus. You will be needed here as we make our preparations."

"If not me, then who?"

"You are not the only one with such loyalty. The other members of his fireteam, for instance."

Saladin was referring to Watcher-41 and Mal, the Hunter and Warlock pair who had constantly been by Atlas's side, even before his first encounter with Iratus. The trio had been formed when they were all newborns, eager to complete their first Vanguard mission.

"Then I'm off to give them their new orders."

"The meeting is not over yet, Iratus." Ikora reminded him.

"What more is there to say, Ikora?" The Firebreak Titan grunted, eyeing her impatiently.

"No, no. Your presence is no longer required," Saladin interjected, motioning for the Warlock to cease and desist. "Now get going."

1.6.2156 CE. Sol System. Earth. The Tower. Tower Hangar.

The sun was already setting behind the western ranges when Iratus finally managed to get ahold of Watcher-41 and Mal, whom he had found tinkering with their weapons in the quiet of the jukebox room, which few Guardians ever made use of. It had taken Iratus the better part of an hour to find them, having first searched the Tower Watch, Tower North, and Traveler's Walk before thinking to go to the Hangar.

Held loosely in Watcher-41's lap was a heavy, armor piercing rifle, which in Iratus's opinion seemed to be somewhere between a scout and a sniper rifle. The Exo Hunter looked up from her work as the Titan entered her workspace, carefully removing the weapon from her lap and leaning it against the wall next to her.

Mal was off in the corner.

"What brings you here, Iratus?" She asked, gesturing for the newcomer to take the empty sofa to her right. Her voice was a smooth soprano, and Iratus found himself once again surprised by how natural the Exo's voice sounded.

"Saladin just greenlighted the search for Atlas." He announced, gently lowering himself down onto the sofa, which groaned under his massive weight.

"There's a surprise for you." And though Mal had merely whispered, his voice still projected at the same volume as normal speech, amplified by whatever strange powers lurked within the man.

"Indeed. I'd have thought that Saladin wouldn't be able to spare anyone from the City's defenses with the Cabal fleet virtually at our doorstep." Watcher mused.

"I was surprised too, but then again Saladin has always had a soft spot for Atlas." Iratus admitted.

"We were talking about finding Atlas?" Mal reminded them.

"Right," Iratus responded apologetically, before turning to Watcher. "It'll only be the two of you out searching for him. I have to stay here to help prepare the defenses."

"That is unfortunate." Watcher muttered.

Iratus stood up from the sofa, the springs rejoicing as the colossal burden that they had previously borne was lifted, and nodded a silent farewell to the two Guardians, his message delivered.

Once he was gone, Mal stepped out from the shadows of the corner of the room and into the artificial light. His face was young, his features soft, but his hair was already grey with streaks of white pure as snow. Slim in body, he could have been mistaken for an elderly man had his face been hidden.

"That damned lug of a fool shouldn't have taken off on his own." Mal muttered derisively, admonishing Atlas's rash decision to investigate the derelict Ketch alone.

"Well, wherever he is, I'm sure that he's regretting his idiocy."

"Tch. He's probably managed to get himself into trouble already."

"Probably."

The two Guardians made to leave the room, Watcher picking up her hybrid rifle and slinging it across her back, while Mal stowed the book that he had been reading back into the folds of his robes. There was an air of tangible excitement that hung around them as they headed to their ships, both of them eager to hunt down and bring back their friend.

Many of the other Guardians in the Hangar eyed them warily, memories of nightmarish Crucible matches coming back to them as Atlas's companions passed by. For years the three of them had reigned over the Crucible, but before long they had found themselves called to the frontlines by the Vanguard, each battle holding them longer and longer from their home.

Mal glanced back, wistfully, at the Vanguard Quartermaster, whom Atlas would normally pester about weapon prices.

 _Wherever you are, I hope that you're still alive._

1.6.2156 CE. Serpent Nebula. Widow. The Citadel. Zakera Ward.

"Well this is just fan-fucking-tastic." Wrex rolled out of the way of a flaming car as it catapulted towards him, spinning end over end as it hurtled through the air. Stepping out of the wall of smoke that the car had been flung from, two Asari, both wearing armor painted Eclipse yellow, advanced on Wrex's position.

Poking his head up from behind a broken pillar, the Krogan Battlemaster fired his shotgun at the assailants. A frown fell over his face as the blasts dissipated against their biotic barriers, leaving no lasting damage.

This called for more extreme measures. The Asari in front of were clearly powerful and experienced, most probably possessing Commando training, but as powerful as they thought they were, Wrex was about to teach them a lesson. A biotic charge with all of the weight of a fully grown Krogan behind it was bound to put them on their asses.

"I've got these two." Atlas's call halted the Krogan in his tracks, and Wrex allowed the biotic fields that he had been gathering around himself to fade from existence, huffing as he did so.

A grenade, lobbed from a higher position behind Wrex, landed squarely between the two Asari, causing them to roll away and hastily erect secondary barriers when they could not put enough distance between themselves and the blast.

Then the grenade detonated, knocking the both of them back even further, their barriers unable to completely withstand the tempestuous flames that had been released by the explosive device. They had been separated, unable to quickly provide aid to one another in the midst of Atlas's offensive.

The Titan leapt down from the balcony that he had taken up position on, his body resounding loudly with the impact of his five story fall. A few stray bits of cracked stone kicked up, smacking Wrex soundly in the face.

"Watch it!"

Using his thruster packs to boost his steps, Atlas approached the two Asari in a manner similar to moonwalking, albeit with extreme speed. One of the Asari, her body badly burnt on the side that had been turned towards the blast, felt her eyes widen in surprise as they registered the speed of the Titan's approach. Raising her Carnifex despite the searing pain in her arm, the Asari fired twice, each bullet hitting Atlas squarely in the forehead.

His skull should have been split open, brains leaking out from the cracked remains of his helmet, but that was not the case. In an instant, Atlas was beside the Commando, kicking the high caliber weapon out of her hand.

Noticing the other Commando stirring on the other side of the ruined street, Atlas brought his boot down on his current victim's head, the force of his stomp reducing the blue alien's head into a mash of blood, bones and brains. Seeing the death of her comrade, the surviving mercenary screamed something unintelligible and stood, scorched body trembling in pain as she gathered biotic fields around herself.

Atlas cocked his head to the side, quizzically, as he watched her. He had seen Wrex about to do the same thing earlier, but was still unsure as to exactly what was about to happen. An attempt to break his shields, perhaps? No. If Wrex had planned on doing the same then it would be some kind of gap closer. A biotics enhanced charge?

A wry grin crossed Atlas's lips as he made up his mind. If he predicted this wrong then he would look like an utter fool, but if he got this right then it would be a moment to remember. As the Asari blurred forward in a blaze of blue light, Atlas stepped forward with his left leg and reached out with his right hand.

It was most certainly not a moment to remember. Atlas's grip slipped past the Commando's face and his eyes narrowed in annoyance as he was sent flying by the impact of the biotic charge. His body sailed through the air, hanging there for a moment, before crashing back down on the hood of a car.

"Atlas!"

"'M fhh!"

"What?"

"I'm fine!"

The Asari turned in horror to look at her enemy who should have been dead, bones pulverized and organs liquified by her biotics. What kind of monster was she facing that could withstand such a fatal blow? A Krogan or an Elcor might have been able to withstand her charge, but her enemy was neither. An Ardat Yakshi? A sliver of fear crept through her blood at the thought, but it was nothing compared to what she would have felt had she known the truth. But, she would fight on, finish this, even in her weakened state, in order to ensure that the demon before her could not cause any more suffering.

Once more she gathered biotic fields around her, drawing on both her natural affinity and powerful amplifiers to forge the killing blow. The monster was standing now, stalking towards her without any sign of injury, its alien weapons still slung across its back. Shaking off the feelings of trepidation in her heart she charged, the world fading to brilliant blue for the fraction of a second that was the time it took her to close the twenty meter gap.

Unfortunately for the Asari, her opponent's timing had been greatly improved by his failure the last time around, and when she should have slammed against him she felt only the cold hand of a gauntlet holding her neck in a vise. As she looked around in surprise through the corners of her eyes she saw the demon, standing just to her right, barely out of the way of her charge's blast radius.

The demon cackled, perhaps rejoicing as it, with just one hand, lifted her into the air and strangled the life from her body. Darkness took her sight and her lungs wailed silently as they drowned in nothingness. This was death?

Atlas chuckled as the Asari's body slid to the ground, limp, and checked the corner of his HUD to make sure that he had recorded his plan in action. Titan shoulder-charging habits in the Crucible had called for him to formulate some kind of counter against his brethren, and the same principle applied to countering a biotic charge. The Asari had been tough, for a couple of non-Guardians, capable of surviving the effects of an inferno grenade without losing their fighting spirit. He could respect that.

"Damnit, Atlas! Next time let me have at least one of them!"

"You looked like you were in trouble."

"Don't mistake my age for a handicap, you greedy asshat!"

"You know, the rhyming really detracts from the effect."

"..."

"I mean, don't get me wrong, some of the greatest pre-battle speeches ever made have accidentally rhymed from time to time, but those were the shittier parts."

Wrex grumbled something as he mag-clamped his shotgun to his back and stood up from cover, getting a good look at Atlas. The Titan's breathing was steady, betraying no indication as to whether he had sustained any injuries from his fight. Wrex knew that even he would have been seriously injured or incapacitated had he been the Asari's target, thick hide and all.  
"The banker, he still alive?" Wrex asked.

"He was still kicking last I saw of him." Atlas had remained up at the top of the banker's apartment building where the little Volus's panic room was. Eclipse had split their forces, half of them rappelling down onto the roof from a dropship, while the rest had taken part in a ground assault. But, that had only just started, and those two Asari were the first ones into the fray.

"Wait... how fast did you kill the mercs on the roof?"

"Fast enough."

"Your Ghost told me that those Asari were just scouts. The rest of the strike team is about to hit us."

"Then there's still plenty to go around." The Titan said, grinning beneath within his helmet as he went back to where Wrex was , taking up position behind the overturned car that had nearly pancaked the Krogan. Bending his knees and squatting down, Atlas gripped the frame of the still smoldering car and turned it on its side, the metal groaning against the force of his hands.

Dusting off his hands, Atlas unslung the pulse rifle that had been strapped across his back and flicked the safety off. The PDX-45 was a sleek, red and white patterned weapon, a relic from his Suros sponsorship, with the majority of its metal parts covered by smooth plastics.

Epsilon had observed a force of about two dozen Eclipse mercenaries on the move through the streets of Zakera Ward. The main entrance to the Volus banker's residence was in the corner of a dead end residential street, one not poor enough to be considered shady, but not wealthy enough to warrant an increased C-Sec presence.

Eclipse would funnel right into duo's line of sight, walk themselves headlong into an unexpected killing zone. The thought sent a spike of adrenaline through Atlas's blood. Overwhelming odds were what he had been born to face, and even if his current opponents were sub-par when compared to the standard fare, but it would entertaining all the same.

"Epsilon," Atlas called, hailing his Ghost over their shared comms. "Has there been any C-Sec response?"

"Nothing yet, but I'll keep an ear on their comms." The Ghost replied.

"Don't bother," Wrex interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "Eclipse probably paid off C-Sec to ignore anything that happens around here for the next few hours, short of the entire Ward going up in flames."

"Well then, that makes things easier for us as well." Atlas muttered, eyes scanning the road, which the two Asari Commandos had thoroughly destroyed. There were still a few intact cars scattered on the road that could provide the advancing mercenaries with ample cover, and maybe even a solid foothold.

"Wrex, you have any explosives?"

"Grenades and some det charges, but nothing fancy."

"Doesn't need to be. Just set some on the cars that haven't exploded yet."

"Now that's just dirty."

"No one said that we had to fight fair."

Atlas watched as the Krogan set about with his assigned task, making note of each trap's blast radius before detaching the rail mounted red dot sight on his PDX and replacing it with a SPO-57 sight. With any luck, it would make spotting the enemy through the chaos a much easier task.

By the time that Atlas had finished replacing his sight and double-checking his ammo Wrex had completed his task as well and joined him behind cover. A short transmission from Epsilon informed them that Eclipse was about to turn the corner and into their line of fire.

The Titan stood from his kneeling position and raised his pulse rifle, its ammo counter and target acquisition systems syncing to his HUD, relaying to him a steady stream of information. Looking to his left, Atlas saw Wrex doing the same, having traded out his shotgun for an assault rifle with longer range. The Krogan chuckled excitedly.

"Loser buys dinner." Atlas offered.

"You're on."

As the first mercenary turned the corner and into the killzone Atlas's finger instinctively pulled the trigger, cutting down the unfortunate Turian with a trio of bullets that broke through the alien's kinetic barriers and blew away the right side of its face. The other soldiers behind it scrambled at the sight, piling themselves behind the few intact cars in the area.

Atlas kept his finger on the trigger, aim never faltering as the rifle bucked continuously, its recoil hardly noticeable. Five more mercenaries were cut down before Atlas was forced to reload. It gave him grim satisfaction to watch as each burst struck its target squarely, the product of decades of practice. He ducked back into cover as the Eclipse grunts returned fire, though he made sure to keep one eye on their positions.

The enemy was well disciplined, cohesive, and was making use of the tried-and-true tactic of leapfrogging. Wrex and Atlas were still able to pick off one or two of the mercenaries as they advanced behind a shield of suppressive fire, but even their combined efforts had no noticeable effects. Atlas, despite the ease with which he could tank the incoming rounds, wasn't willing to risk a sniper taking his head off by staying exposed for too long.

"They're closing in, Atlas." Wrex cautioned as he fell back into cover, clutching a detonator in his hand.

"Wait for my mark. There aren't enough of them past the halfway point yet." The Titan responded as he calmly pegged an Asari with a fusion grenade as she attempted to move up. A cocoon of flames engulfed her as the grenade exploded, melting through armor and flesh as it reduced her body to shimmering ashes. Atlas scanned the killzone once more.

"Now, Wrex!"

Beeping, followed by an eruption of heat and shrapnel, tore through the street, ripping away chunks of duracrete and shattering apart glass as the explosion swept away the Eclipse strike team. Wrex and Atlas, huddled behind their overturned car, were flung long by the blast and through the windows of the building behind them, out of the raging inferno.

Back on the street, either silent or moaning in despair, the survivors of the trap, what few of them there were, groped blindly for salvation from their pain in an amber haze of smoke and heat. Armor had been fused to flesh, limbs had been torn apart, and entire bodies had been vaporized.

"Atlas, you alright?" Wrex attempted to stand, putting his weight on the butt of his shotgun, using it as a makeshift crutch.

"Oh shit." Atlas felt a wet sting in his abdomen that squelched with each pain induced spasm, and cautiously moved his hand to probe the wound. He could feel some kind of metal, slick with his blood, that had opened the gaping hole in his stomach.

Normally, when faced with such a wound, most Guardians would simply off themselves and resurrect to negate any hinderance to their mobility. Atlas, however, could afford no such luxury at the moment. The building's camera's hadn't been disabled and ran on a closed circuit system, which meant that there was no signal for Epsilon to hack them through. No, this would have to be done the hard way.

Grasping the metal beam with both hands, Atlas twisted in opposite directions with his burning muscles, the strain in his arms and shoulders amplified by the bleeding wound in his core. He wrought the metal with equal parts power and control, until he felt it bend and break under his agonized efforts. His eyes widened in surprise, however, when he realized that he was falling, and that the metal beam which he had been transfixed upon had been three meters up in the air.

The Titan fell face-up, groaning as the fragmented section of the metal beam, still lodged inside of him, clanged on the floor and his body slid down. Atlas, his face twisted into a pained grimace, swore vehemently.

Wrex stood wide-eyed at the display, looking a little helpless as he listened to the Titan read aloud a veritable anthology of curses. The show was only further intensified as Atlas gripped the metal beam again with both hands and pulled it free from his stomach, raising offenses to every culture and religion as he did so.

"Wrex, help me up." The words came out as more an unintelligible grunt than anything else, but the Krogan was still able to understand the general idea. Carefully, he lowered himself and added Atlas's weight to his own so that the Titan could stand, all while gaining a wonderful addition to his vocabulary.

"So, what now?" Wrex asked, jarred at seeing the Titan in such a state.

"Now? Now, I get back to the Damsel so that I can seal up my wounds, while you go after Vitellus and bring his scaly ass to me."

"You sure he isn't just crawling around somewhere back on the street?"

"He wasn't caught in the blast. I was watching."

"Alright then, but can't you just... y'know... off yourself?"

"The cameras. We don't have time."

"At least you won't be hogging all of the kills now."

"Shut up."

 **So it's been a while. Sorry for that. I've been busy with finalizing college stuff and work. You'd be surprised at the amount of stuff you still have to do after you get accepted to college. I know that there are probably a few people wondering about how much of the story will be dedicated to the Destiny-verse and the events going on there, so I'll just say now that Atlas and Wrex will still be the main focus for a while. I'll definitely write some shorter passages surrounding what's going on back in the Destiny-verse, but I don't want to scatter my attention too much.**

 **At this point, I can't really say when the next chapter will be up, but it shouldn't be the month-long wait that this one suffered.**

 **As always, feel free to leave a review(any and all criticism is welcome and very helpful) and I hope to see you all in the next chapter.**


	6. Chapter 6

1.6.2156 CE. Serpent Nebula. Widow. The Citadel. Docking Bays.

The crate that Atlas had seated himself on creaked under his unarmored weight and threatened to collapse when he shifted his body to a more comfortable position. A spike of pain shot through his stomach and up through his chest as he once again probed the gaping hole in his center. Now that he was back in the relative safety of the Damsel's cargo hold he had the much easier option of regenerating via resurrection, and he absentmindedly reached for the rifle at his side.

"Hold up there, Atlas," Epsilon cut in, momentarily stopping the Titan from proceeding with his impromptu lobotomy. "I don't know how often we should be risking this kind of thing."

"Why? Is there something wrong?" Other than the fact that committing suicide was something that most Guardians did on a daily basis. Hell, some Fireteams even pranked one another by tossing each other off of the Tower.

"Not yet, but we're alone here, with no other Guardians to call to for help in case we encounter the Enemy."

"So we'll just have to be more careful." Atlas didn't see what the Problem was. As Atlas had grown more powerful and more experienced, death had become a much rarer occurrence for him.

"That's not a solution! If we fall into the habit of regeneration via resurrection then we run the risk of having to fall back on that when we can't afford to!"

"Sorry, Epsilon, I wasn't thinking straight."

"It's only to be expected from an ape like you."

"I do not look like an ape!"

"Try telling that to the mirror."

Thoroughly subdued, Atlas limped over to the first-aid kit mounted on side of the hallway that connected the cargo bay to the cockpit and opened the blue container. Inside was a macabre menagerie of bone cutters, hypodermic needles, scalpels, medical wraps, and an armored box filled with vials. The needles, wraps, and two vials were all that he needed.

One vial was filled with blood coagulant, the other with a sedative. Once the drugs in the vials were safely loaded into the needles, Atlas gritted his teeth and set to work.

Dark spots, blurry at the edges, appeared in his vision the instant that he injected himself with the first needle, and he felt his blood flow slowing. His head drooped downwards, the movement of its own accord, and he took several deep, labored breaths through his mouth.

Then he injected himself with the sedative in the second needle. There had been times in the past when Atlas had wished that he was a Warlock, capable of manipulating the Light to heal his own wounds, but those times were few and far between, born from the lowest depths of frustration. He hated forced rest.

Finally, Atlas began unrolling the medical wrap. The wrap was wide and thick, capable of covering even the most obscene wounds. He moved the roll around his body, once, twice, and several more times before pinning it tight, but not so tight as to cut off the blood circulation, before tearing the part between the wrap around his body and the roll.

Exhausted, he let the roll of medical wrap fall to the floor and submitted himself to injury-induced sleep. His last conscious thoughts were of whether or not Wrex was having any luck with Vitellus.

1.6.2156 CE. Serpent Nebula. Widow. The Citadel. Zakera Ward.

Vitellus considered himself an experienced soldier, his skills honed by time spent both in the Turian military and Eclipse, and enjoyed a life of luxury and excitement because of his skills. But, for all of his experience, he had no recollection of how to handle his shuttle being boarded by a flying Krogan.

He jerked the steering wheel left and right, paling slightly as the Krogan's massive weight thumped repeatedly against the roof, but refused to be thrown free. Behind him, he heard the telltale boom of a shotgun, a sound that he had recently grown intimately familiar with, as a hole was blown through the top of the shuttle. A hand reached down then, clawed and covered in thick hide and rough scales, and widened the breach that the shotgun had made,

Sederis' second pulled his pistol from its holster and fired back at the hole, several of the rounds finding their target on the other side. The Krogan, however, would not be deterred, and simply lowered himself down into the shuttle, the displacement of its weight causing the craft to lurch and Vitellus' shots to go wide.

The Turian soon found his pistol yanked from his hand, followed by a very large fist slamming against the side of his face. His world went dark.

"Weakling," Wrex taunted as he pulled the unconscious Turian out of the pilot's seat and proceeded to commandeer the vehicle. "Could've at least done a barrel roll."

Righting the craft and making a note to avoid any C-Sec patrols, Wrex piloted his appropriated transport back towards the docking bays. Along the ride, he made sure to keep one eye on Vitellus in case the Turian decided to wake up from his nap. Soon, Vitellus would have more to worry about than just an angry Krogan.

1.6.2156 CE. Serpent Nebula. Widow. The Citadel. Docking Bays.

Atlas groaned as he awoke from his stupor, gently prodding his wound, now covered in medical wrap, with a heavy hand. There wasn't any blood seeping through, and no rancid odors filled the air, so he figured that he would be fine for the moment.

"Stop that." Epsilon chided, not bothering to look away from the game console that it was playing.

"You didn't even see what I did." Atlas croaked in complaint, voice hoarse from smoke and pain.

"You either: A: poked your bandages, or B: poked your bandages."

"Fair enough."

Using the crate as a handhold (he had fallen off it during his drug induced rest), he raised himself to a knee, stopping to catch his breath before he stood, back slightly hunched. Testily, he moved his arms about in various stretches, wincing, but taking comfort in the fact that he hadn't reopened his wounds with the movement. His legs came next, and after a few, shaky steps he had regained his balance and his composure.

"How long was I out for?"

"An hour."

"How's Wrex doing?"

"He's fine, considering that he jumped off of a skyscraper to board Vitellus' shuttle."

"Wow... Who even does that?'

"You..."

"When?"

"That volcano on Venus, in the Caloris Basin."

"It was Mal's idea!" Atlas huffed in indignation when Epsilon didn't bother with a response, and his thoughts strayed to what Mal and Watcher were up to. Knowing the two of them, they were probably off giving Zavala a heart attack with Iratus' help.

It was strange for him, fighting without the presence of his fireteam that he had led for the entirety of his second life. The fluidity of their coordination, the familiarity that each of them had with one another. Their experiences had made them more than just a team. They were a family.

Wrex was certainly a deadly combatant, capable of keeping pace with Atlas when the Titan refrained from using his powers, and could even be considered a friend. Indeed, there were times that Atlas forgot that the Krogan wasn't a Guardian, owing much to Wrex's considerable pragmatism when it came to the shocking revelations that the Titan had imparted upon him.

Wrex... Atlas sighed in frustration as the realization dawned upon him. He had placed his friend in needless danger by setting off that explosion with them still in the blast radius. If Wrex had been impaled on the metal beam instead of Atlas, it was entirely possible that the Krogan would have died, regenerative abilities notwithstanding.

Guns, armor, equipment, they could all be replaced, but not a friend. Atlas had learned that lesson early in his life, at Twilight Gap. The sky had trembled with the thunderous roar of artillery through day and night, only stopping when the Fallen had finally swarmed the Wall and silenced the City's gun emplacements. So many dead, so many sacrifices made to snatch tenuous victory from the Darkness.

Atlas registered a sharp pain in his knuckles and looked up, realizing that he had punched the wall, severely denting the bulkhead. He grunted in annoyance at his momentary loss of control. What had happened on Earth would not happen here; that was a promise, a promise as much to himself as to those he sought to protect.

Wincing again as he reached for the ruptured chest piece that he had set aside earlier, Atlas set about making his repairs. Wrex would be returning soon, and then the fun would begin.

Vitellus awoke to the throbbing pain in his head, a consequence of being sucker punched by a Krogan. He immediately noticed, much to his concern, that his arms and legs were securely fastened to the chair he was sitting on by metal cuffs. There were voices too, behind him, speaking in low whispers that he couldn't quite catch. This was bad.

One of his captors said something that the other one didn't seem to agree with, if the Krogan's dismissive grumbling was any indication. Then the voices stopped and he heard footfalls approaching him. Vitellus didn't realize that he had turned his head to the side in an attempt to overhear the conversation behind him. Cursing under his breath, he turned away and examined his restraints. Had they not been steel-linked cuffs he might have been able to wiggle himself free, given enough time.

"Our prisoner returns to the land of the living." The speaker was near to his ear and the voice had clearly undergone heavy modification through some sort of synthesizer. It sounded Asari, unnaturally so.

"What do you want from me?" It was best to get these kinds of questions out of the way quickly. Asking things like "who are you?" or flinging insults were good ways to get your face rearranged. Vitellus preferred his face just the way it was; rugged and handsome.

"What do I want from you, Commander Vitellus? I want to help you." That was never good.

"If you wanted to help me you could've just asked nicely." Vitellus responded, eyeing his massive captor warily as it made its way to the front of his seat. When it got directly in front of him, he could see its profile clearly, and what he saw only cemented his suspicions. Was that really an Asari?

"But where would the fun in that be? I have to keep my aim from getting rusty, after all." While he hadn't been down there with the strike team, Vitellus had been monitoring their progress via helmet cams. Somehow, he suspected that shooting a gun was first rather than second nature to the soldier- something as innate as breathing.

"All joking aside, I do have a proposition for you," the behemoth continued. "Help me unseat Jona Sederis, and you get full command of Eclipse; all of its soldiers, finances, and connections."

"What's the catch?" There was always a catch to a proposal like that. Even if Vitellus wasn't killed while carrying out a coup, there was no guarantee that he would walk away with his life.

"Do you consider yourself a man of honor, Turian?" The question caught Vitellus off guard. It certainly wasn't what the Eclipse Commander had been expecting. Vitellus wasn't sure which answer should lean towards, and he could not predict either outcome. Taking the middling path was the wisest choice available to him.

"My time with the military taught me a thing or two about it."

"Enough to remember who put you on top when the time comes?" Ominous enough words to the Turian's ears, but his curiosity had been peaked as well. The soldier, his captor, standing before him garbed in outlandish armor adorned with an equally outlandish trophy, was certainly different from anyone Vitellus had ever met.

"The time for what?"

"That's not important for now," the giant said with an air of finality that Vitellus would have to be a fool to ignore. "For now, I need to know if you're willing to accept my help or not."

Vitellus had always wondered what it would be like to sit on the Eclipse throne, the full might of the vast mercenary company under his sole command. But he had never had the burning desire that one needed to seize such a role for himself, a move that would require him to come face-to-face with one of the galaxy's most powerful biotics. He wasn't against it by any means: the galaxy was a better place without sadists like Sederis on the loose.

"How do I know that you have what it takes to bring down Sederis?"

"You saw what I did to your strike team, and that's nothing compared to what I'm going to bring to bear against her."

"But there are only two of you. As good as you might be, how do you plan on fighting your way through the army that Sederis surrounds herself with?"

"With a lot of guns."

"That doesn't sound like much of a plan."

"It's a plan if you're me."

Vitellus had seen arrogance before, had become quite familiar with it over the decades. He had seen it in unblooded recruits who thought that they could take on the galaxy, thought that they were invincible. However, the soldier standing before him was no recruit- that much had been made clear scant hours ago. The mysterious warrior had lured the strike team into an explosive deathtrap, had waited until everyone was in before he had triggered it. Patience was something that all of the newbloods lost when the adrenaline took over.

Experienced soldiers knew their limits, and this one sounded sure of theirs. Besides, Sederis would be furious when she found out that the strike team had failed. Vitellus hadn't been her second-in-command for very long, and neither had the last one.

"Well," Vitellus said after a pause. "I don't quite know what your endgame is, but I suppose I'm willing to accept your help."

Atlas stooped down and released Vitellus from his restraints, freeing him from the metal chains, though Atlas made sure to keep watchful eyes on the Turian as he did so. Despite his lack of familiarity with Turian psychology or physiology, Atlas sensed no deception from the Commander.

"Thank you, Vitellus." Atlas returned. "It gladdens me that there was no need for torture."

"Erm... good?" Vitellus gulped, put off by the Titan's words, before he asked what the next part of the plan was while taking a look around the room for the first time. The wall that he was facing had given him the impression that the room was smaller than it really was. What he had thought an interrogation room was in fact a loading bay filled with armor, ammunition and weapons. There were certainly a lot of weapons.

"That depends." Atlas responded.

"On what?"

"On how many of the other Eclipse officers would side with you over Sederis."

"The vast majority of the Turians and most of the Salarians would side with me if I led a coup, but the Asari are all devoted to Sederis, fanatically, and they're the ones who command the greater numbers."

"Numbers aren't what I'm worried about. Your officers, are they competent?"

"The Turians were all officers in the military before they joined up with Eclipse, but I can't say much for the Salarians; they're tactically sound, but not the most inspiring bunch. A few of them might be former STG."

"Good. That'll make things easier for us."

"Easier how?"

"When all's said and done, we won't have to rebuild Eclipse from the ground up. And what about Sederis' officers?"

"Sadists, the lot of them. A few of them can actually command, but most of them just lead by fear. The only reason that I was named Sederis' second is because she's not just a sadist, but smart one as well."

"I've dethroned tyrants before, and this will be no different."

"Not that I doubt your abilities, but do you actually have a plan?"

"That all depends on how quickly you can prepare your troops."

"To do this without alerting Sederis it'll take at least a week to inform my officers and for them to get ready." Vitellus from his seat, rubbing his sore wrists and probing the bump on the back of his head. Then he gave Atlas a quizzical look and asked how the two would keep in contact.

"I'll message you." Was the Titan's response.

"Right," Vitellus muttered in resignation. "And what should I call you?"

"Officially, Staiyana V'lali, but since you don't officially know me, my name is Atlas."

"That was easier than I anticipated." Atlas admitted, running a hand through his shoulder length hair. He had tied it back into a ponytail, having forgone his helmet in Vitellus' absence.  
"You think that he's going to betray us?" Wrex asked. He wasn't nearly as convinced of the Turian Commander's loyalty as Atlas was.

"Doubtful." Atlas responded. "Vitellus isn't ruthless or cowardly, or suicidal. He won't give us up to Sederis in hopes of gaining favor or saving his own hide, and he's not stupid enough to betray us."

"And what about the strike team? I can't imagine that killing Vitellus' men won us any points with him."

"Normally I'd agree with you on that, but those two Commandos that we fought down on the street, they were the ones in command. The team that made the rooftop insertion was also led by Commandos."

"What kind of officer charges in _that_ far ahead of the main body?" The rest of the Eclipse strike team had engaged Wrex and Atlas minutes after their commanders.

"An idiot." While it wasn't unusual for Titan officers to lead from the front, their warriors would would never more than a few steps behind, eager to join the fray.

"But, why would Vitellus be in charge of Sederis' troops?" Wrex grated out, bringing the original question back to the forefront of the conversation. "It makes no sense."

"I don't know for certain, but it could mean that Sederis already suspects our Turian ally."

"Suspects him of what, Atlas? He isn't planning anything that we know of."

"Hmm..." the Titan hummed, deep in thought. "It seems that we'll have to keep a close eye on Vitellus until his forces are ready."

"You think that Sederis is going to have him killed?" The Krogan battlemaster wondered, idly wiping down his disassembled shotgun with a cloth.

"I'll have Epsilon keep an eye him." The little Ghost was more than capable of intercepting news of any attempts on Vitellus' life, and the Damsel was just as capable of reaching the Turian in time.

Wrex grunted in satisfaction as he slotted his shotgun's ammo block back into the weapon. It locked in place with a solid click. Hunching over and resting one forearm on a knee, the Krogan gestured towards the back of the loading bay where Vitellus had exited.

"Alright, so he has something to keep himself busy with. But what about us?"

There was a short silence as Atlas turned away and quickly scanned the contents of the loading bay- guns, armor, ammo, ammo, ammo... not enough ammo. Crates full of bullets and explosives and energy cells, all of them transmattable to fit the universal ammunition categories of Primary, Special, and Heavy. Here was enough ammo to slog through months of heavy fighting, but it was all the ammo Atlas had. And when the time came for the Titan to finally face whatever enemies lay in wait out in the dark beyond, he would need all of it.

"Us?" The Titan put his hands on his hips and turned back to face his partner with a reply. "We're going shopping."

"What?" Wrex's face had twisted itself into a rather strange expression of confusion, and Atlas was quick to clear up his former statement.

"For need guns and ammo." Atlas clarified, exasperated.

"What's wrong with what you have here?" The Krogan asked, looking around the loading bay and scratching his head plate.

"The ammo that I have here won't last forever, and with no foreseeable way of replenishing them it would be better to address the issue sooner rather than later."

"Your weapons use slug rounds, don't they?"

"Yes, they do, but the specific munitions that I use can only be crafted from Light-infused materials."

"Oh, well that's a problem."

"No shit. You got any suggestions?" While Atlas had extensive knowledge of every weapon ever forged on Earth since the Collapse, the weapons of this galaxy were still foreign to him.

"Hmm." Wrex took a moment to regard his partner. From what he had seen of Atlas's combat skills, the Titan was more than capable of shooting any and all kinds of weapons. However, from personal experience, the Battlemaster could attest that every warrior had weapons that they were more comfortable with, weapons that suited their fighting style.

Again, a challenge if ever there was one. Atlas's fighting style encompassed everything, from standard, small-squad tactics to brutal and efficient close quarters combat. If the Titan so much as caught a glimpse of an opportunity to close the distance, fistacuffs were bound to ensue.

"A shotgun," the Battlemaster announced. "Definitely a shotgun. The Scimitar variant from Elkoss might suit you."

"I'm very glad that you've been paying attention, Wrex." The Titan chuckled, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, well I'm not done yet. Spectre level gear might give you the same kind of firepower that your rifle has, but it'll also costs a fortune and a half to buy on the black market."

"We're not exactly trying to break the bank." Wrex and Atlas had earned themselves a sizeable paycheck for their services back on Sekhmet, but the price of Spectre gear was unfathomably high.

"I know." Wrex cut in, waving off Atlas's concerns. "Elkoss Combine also makes the Avenger line of assault rifles."

"They any good?" Atlas had seen these rifles, as they were commonplace among the Batarian pirates and Eclipse mercenaries he had faced.

"They're reliable, if nothing else. Good firepower balanced with good stability."

"Wrex, I need firepower. Recoil isn't the issue here."

"Hey, if it's any consolation, most veteran mercs stick with the Avenger even when they can afford the more expensive stuff."

"Can it be modified?"

"Yeah, it uses a modular rail system."

"That's not what I meant."

"Huh?"

"I was talking about the internal parts." A worried frown began to spread itself over the Krogan's features as he made his reply,

"Atlas..."

Atlas stood hunched over by the weapons bench in the loading bay where he was busy tinkering with the inner workings of his recently acquired Avenger. Organized in a neat row off to the side was the outer casing of the rifle. Beside him, hovering over his shoulder was Epsilon, who was carefully instructing its Guardian through the modification process.

Wrex watched this all with idle interest, half excited and half nervous to see what the end results would be. The Krogan had never really consider himself a gun enthusiast; to him, a gun was something that got the job done, and a shotgun was the best gun for the job. Field stripping and cleaning a weapon was about the extent of it for Wrex. The Guardian in front of him was another story entirely.

Alongside Atlas's newly acquired purchase was a box containing screwdrivers and wrenches of varying sizes, many of which the Titan had discarded, not so neatly, upon finding that they did not meet his requirements. Wrex had nearly been skewered by a flying screwdriver upon entering the room.

Silently, Wrex could only question the logic behind Atlas's plan. Turians liked to pretend that they valued their so called honor. But where had that honor been when the Genophage was unleashed? Trusting a Turian was one thing. Trusting a former Hierarchy officer turned mercenary commander was something else entirely. But, then again, even if Vitellus did betray them to Sederis, it would only turn an already target rich environment into a target saturated one. Wrex had no problem with a few more idiots who needed help dying.

Sighing, he turned his thoughts to the immediate future. When the two of them managed to overthrow Sederis and either supplant her with Vitellus or with someone more suitable to the task, what then? Wrex could see the endgame, the bigger picture. The enemies that Atlas spoke of would come, and bring with them death on a galactic scale; for what other reason could a warrior like Atlas exist other than to combat such foes?

All of these things made sense to the Battlemaster and yet the road to that War was shrouded in uncertainty. Amassing an army was well and all, but an army of mercenaries would need to be kept in line by the promise of something. Wrex didn't think that the average soldier of fortune would be willing to fight against monsters right out of a horror vid, not for any sum of credits.

Maybe when Atlas was done with his hostile takeover of Eclipse then the Krogan would pose the problem to him. For now the Titan needed a clear mind if this was to go off without a hitch. It would be difficult to replace Sederis with anyone other than Vitellus, if only because the Turian officer was already familiar with the mercenary organization's inner workings.

"Aha!" The triumphant exclamation from Atlas broke Wrex from his thoughts as the Titan put the final modifications on his weapon.

"You done?" It had certainly taken a while. The two of them had gotten back from buying supplies a little over two hours ago, and the Titan had been working nonstop since then.

"Indeed. I was able to enhance projectile velocity and heat dispersion by fifty percent. The only real drawback is that the rifle no longer has any recoil compensation mechanism."

"Atlas, I think that I'd call that a pretty serious drawback."

"Nonsense. I'll be perfectly fine without the crutch."

"You do realize that without the compensation mechanism it'll have the same kick as a shotgun?"

"I happen to be a connoisseur of shotguns."

"..."

Atlas activated the folding mechanism on his modified rifle and mag clamped it to the right side of his back, where he could access it by reaching over his shoulder. At his side hung an Edge pistol, which had so far underwent no modifications. The same was true for the Scimitar shotgun that he had bought. A shotgun needed little modification to do its job- one high powered blast at close range was usually sufficient for anything that wasn't an abomination, which Atlas didn't need to worry about as far as Eclipse was concerned.

"You're frowning, Wrex, and not in the silent exasperation way of frowning." Atlas pointed out when he had finished fidgeting with the gun on his back. "Something wrong?"

The Krogan paused for a moment, silently debating with himself as to whether or not he should just tell Atlas about the problem sooner rather than later. After another moment of thinking, he decided on sooner. This wouldn't break Atlas's concentration too much, would it? The expectant look on the man's face told Wrex that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"It's about Eclipse, about this whole army building business." Atlas merely raised an eyebrow at this, his gesture for Wrex to continue. "Mercs will do almost anything if you pay 'em enough, but ask them to fight enemies that look like enemies out of a cyberpunk horror vid and they'll flat out refuse."

"You and I know what the enemy looks like, but they won't." The Titan replied.

"So what, throw them into the grinder and hope that it gets jammed by a lucky piece of bone?"

"Nothing as brutal as that."

"What then?"

"When faced with an existential threat, most soldiers choose to stand and fight than run and cower."

"Yeah, but Eclipse aren't soldiers. They're mercs."

"You're a merc, Wrex."

"That's different. I'm Krogan." Atlas could only raise an eyebrow at this as he awaited the Krogan's explanation.

"Krogans... we," Wrex paused, searching for the right words. "We were a thriving race once, one in the midst of a Golden Age well on our way to becoming a galactic power before we nuked ourselves back to flinging mud at each other."

The Titan nodded in acknowledgement, rubbing his chin, and sat himself down on a crate opposite Wrex.

"The Council, they uplifted us when they stumbled onto an enemy that they couldn't hope to survive: the Rachni."

"The Rachni?"

"They were an insectoid, hive-mind race that nearly overran the known galaxy before we were uplifted to fight them. We pushed them out of Citadel space and chased them back to their worlds, where we eventually drove them to extinction."

"What's your point?"

"Krogans aren't just born to fight, we're born to stand for a cause- not honor, science, or politics, but to defend the galaxy against the monsters in the night. Even the most wayward Krogan mercenary still remembers why he exists, the reason that the Salarians hardwired into the genetics of our entire species."

"Wait, are you telling me that you want to bring the Krogan army into this fight?" Atlas wasn't sure what kind of standing Wrex had with his people, but he doubted that even the grizzled Battlemaster had the connections to mobilize an army.

"There is no standing army on Tuchanka, no unified one at least." Well, there went that plan. Wrex saw the look on his face and continued. "Each clan holds domain over its own territory and maintains its own army. Most clans are allied with at least one other, but we're still a scattered race at best. There are far more Krogans out doing mercenary work than living on the homeworld."

"So what are you proposing?" Atlas thought that he knew where this conversation was going.

"I'm not saying don't use Eclipse to fight the enemy, but you'll need actual soldiers who aren't afraid to die in battle." Oh, Atlas definitely knew where this was going. "Krogans only choose the strongest as their leaders, and so far there hasn't been anyone strong enough to unite the clans."

"Are you asking me to unite the Krogan race?" The Titan had embarked on more insane and suicidal endeavours than he could count, but he'd never tried to unite a mercenary race of space toads. Then again, from the exasperated look that Wrex was giving him, that plan might never have to be realized.

"They would never accept an outsider as their leader, no matter how strong you are, but with your help I think that I'd have a real chance of uniting my people." This conversation had taken a far more pleasant turn than Atlas could've ever anticipated. If there was one thing that he hated, it was convincing people to see things his way. Back at home, especially after the Reclamation of Mars, he had spent the better part of his time convincing his Tower counterparts that they had the perfect opportunity to go on the offensive and drive the Darkness from the Sol System(though truth be told, it had mostly just been Zavala and the Speaker).

Looking at Wrex, Atlas was forced to silently reassess his thoughts on the Krogan Battlemaster. On the surface, all that Atlas had seen was an experienced combatant with an insatiable thirst for battle. Below that, however, Atlas had come to know Wrex as a loyal and steadfast ally with a sense of duty that few mercs had. But, he hadn't expected this from Wrex; individuals who could see the grand scheme of things were rare indeed.

"You're sure about this?" Atlas needed to be sure before they set this plan in motion. Once this plan was underway there was no going back, and completion of such an endeavour might not be for many years down the road.

"My people have spent too long selling ourselves out as mercenaries. We've always needed a purpose to unify us, whether it was fighting the Rachni or rebelling against the Council. We lost that purpose. But with you, with your cause, we might just be able to pick ourselves up out of the ashes."

 **So I changed my username. The old one was just something that I came up with because I needed a username and blanked, and never changed it to what I would normally use, which is highgroundma. This chapter was very low on the action meter, but rest assured there will be plenty of carnage in the next few. As always, feel free to leave a review whether it contains harsh criticism or just a casual comment. Thank you all and see you in the next chapter.**


	7. Chapter 7

1.9.2156 CE. Hourglass Nebula. Faryar System. Daratar.

"Are you insane, Vitellus?" Vitellus regarded the Salarian who had just spoken, Mirik, with a withering glare, before straightening himself to his full height, just shy of six and a half feet tall. Assembled before him were those Eclipse officers who were either firmly in his camp, or just plain sick of Sederis. They stood around a metal table, gathered in a loose circle, deep within the bowels of the secluded Eclipse smuggling depot hidden on the surface of Daratar. Vitellus stood on the far end of the room, away from the entrance, while Mirik stood opposing him on the other side.

"Sederis isn't invincible, Mirik, she can be killed like anyone else." Said one of the Turians standing next to Vitellus, his face distinctly lacking of any colony markings. Vitellus nodded his thanks to the officer and turned back to Mirik.

"No one's ever tried to overthrow Sederis before, not once in the company's entire history." Vitellus swept an arm across the room, his voice flanging.

"And what makes you think that the element of surprise will be enough to take her down?" Mirik retorted. "She's one of the most powerful biotics in the galaxy and surrounds herself with ex-Commandos at any given moment!"

A murmur of assent rose among the majority of the officers, none of them relishing the idea of going up against Sederis' honor guard. Her praetorians were a vicious bunch, many of them having received dishonorable discharges from the Asari military. Some of them were even wanted criminals in Council Space. Vitellus gave a silent sigh of exasperation.

This was going to take some time.

Atlas and Wrex watched Vitellus from the cockpit of the Damsel as the Turian made his case to his fellow officers. Vitellus had patched them into the smuggling depot's security feed, but even if Atlas hadn't been given access to the network Epsilon would have hacked it anyways. Atlas wasn't about to tell him that though.

Wrex was decidedly much less interested in the proceedings than Atlas was, and had nearly fallen asleep several times only to be startled awake by a swift poke to the ribs. The Krogan snorted as Atlas jabbed him for the third time in the past hour. Vitellus had been at it for some time now, but Atlas had faith that the Turian would be able to convince his more skeptical peers.

Atlas looked down at the gun in his lap, its coal black metal pulsing green with eldritch power. Its curves were sharp and sinister and the barrell blossomed outwards in jagged petals. The Titan traced a finger down the bone-like handle, his senses instinctively recoiling from the contact. Rarely had he used the weapon since restoring it to the Light, but even on those few occasions it had always felt wrong, tainted. This was his first time checking up on the weapon since the Anomaly incident, and whatever blight still lingered within whispered louder than it ever had before.

The Titan stood up from his seat and went to put the hand cannon back into the weapons locker, his Light glad to be rid of the Guardian killer's touch. Wrex glanced at him as he returned to his seat, the question still forming on his tongue when Atlas answered preemptively.

"That," the Titan muttered, his eyes dark as he spoke. "Is Thorn, the weapon with which the traitor, Dredgen Yor, murdered Pahanin and Thalor. It has been purified since its recovery, but I am loathe to be near it, or use it."

"Why keep it then?"

"Because every once in a while, even a weapon like that has its uses." Agile targets that refused to stay still could prove difficult to bring down, especially the more powerful ones. One or two well placed shots might bring down their shields, but the chances of landing a successful followup shot were usually low. That was where the Thorn came in. A single blow from one of its barbed spikes was enough to bring most targets to their knees, thoughts obliterated by pain induced spasms.

While the weapon had not explicitly been banned from the Crucible, its use in the arena was highly frowned upon. Even so, that didn't stop many veteran Guardians from equipping the Thorn during highly competitive matches. Atlas himself had had the misfortune of being pegged in the head by one of its spikes during a wager match against Watcher.

Atlas had bet Watcher that he could outshoot her with the handcannon of her choice. Originally, he had set the wager to be decided on the firing range, but Watcher's idea of a firing range was slightly different than his. Mal had gotten a good laugh out of that one.

A slight frown marred the Titan's features as he became lost in the memory, his mind swept away by the waves of nostalgia rushing through his heart. They were more than just his fireteam; they were his family, and he missed them.

Vitellus' flanging shouts snapped Atlas out of his reverie as the Eclipse officer argued back and forth with one particularly stubborn Salarian, Mirik, who had been adamantly against the coup from the beginning. However, from what Atlas could tell, the Turian had managed to sway the others of his race to the cause, as well as a few of the Salarians.

"Well," Wrex grunted. "He's certainly no speech talker."

"Orator." Atlas suggested, lips spread wide in a shit-eating grin.

"Fuck you." Coincidentally, the expletive left Wrex's mouth just as Vitellus unleashed a string of invective on Mirik. The meeting had taken a turn for the worse, and Atlas sat upright in his chair as he intently watched the security feed.

"Should we get in there?" Wrex asked, his forehead creasing with concern as the argument burned hotter and tensions grew higher.

"I always knew that you were an Asari lover, Mirik, but I didn't think that you loved being dominated by them!" The insult had come from one of the other Turians, this one bearing blue colony markings, but Mirik took the jab as though it had come from Vitellus all the same.

The Salarian's face flushed a shade of green darker than its normal complexion and it narrowed its eyes. A few of the other Salarians, the ones standing in a small cluster behind Mirik, looked equally livid.

"You can take your coup and shove it up your scaly ass, Vitellus." Mirik hissed, jabbing a finger in the Turian's direction. "We'll see who gets the last laugh when Sederis has your head on a spike. Me and my men won't be joining you."

"This is serious," the Battlemaster grunted. "What if that little pyjak goes and warns Sederis?"

"Then we make sure that he doesn't." The Titan answered, a glint in his eyes as he spoke. Wrex had been handling a few minor bounties on his own while Atlas spent the time recovering from taking a metal beam to the gut. Interrogating Vitellus hadn't required him to do anything physically strenuous, so Atlas didn't realize just how inflamed his wound was until he had tried to do some mild exercise. Mild, meaning that he had started out by lifting three hundred pound weights and nearly crushed himself when he dropped them.

The past three days had been a tedious affair full of Atlas making idle threats to Epsilon over whose turn it was on the gaming console; that little Ghost spent far more time killing virtual avatars than could be considered healthy. But, now that Atlas, with his semi-legitimate PhD in life threatening wounds, had unofficially cleared himself for combat, it was time to break the monotony. But, it wouldn't do to burst into the middle of the meeting and gun down Mirik in front of the other Eclipse officers. Splattering one's future allies with blood and brains tended not to foster much trust.

"Atlas!" Vitellus' distressed voice came in over the comms. The Turian had removed himself from the meeting room, away from any listening ears. "Mirik is leaving and I think he's going to warn Sederis."

"Can't you just shoot him?" Wrex grumbled.

"If I shoot him, anyone on the fence about this whole thing might decide to leave."

"We'll take care of it." Atlas cut in, already rising from his seat with his helmet tucked under the crook of his arm. Wrex followed him with lumbering footsteps, the Krogan's attention focused on wiping something that looked to be crust from the corner of his eye. Damnit, Wrex.

"You're not going to fall asleep on me, are you?" Atlas asked, receiving an indignant harumph from the Battlemaster.

"Sure. It's the only way you're going to able to keep up." Atlas gave his friend another eye-roll for good measure before donning his Iron Regalia helm.

"Please. I could outpace you if both my legs were missing, you overgrown dinosaur."

"A what?"

"Nevermind." Atlas kept forgetting that half of the names he goaded Wrex with made no sense to a non-human.

"How are we getting there anyways?" Wrex questioned, gesturing back at the cockpit and the mountainous landscape that filled its view. Unfortunately, said landscape was miles from the smuggling depot; Atlas had decided not to risk detection until Vitellus had a handle on the situation.

"By transmat."

"Don't you need some kind of beacon for that?"

"Unless you want to end up in a billion pieces scattered across the planet, then yes." Atlas answered. "I had Vitellus drop a beacon just outside of the base. I believe he disguised it as a liquor bottle."

"So," Wrex started, cautiously. "Anything I should know before I get..." A flash of blue light interrupted the Krogan's sentence as Epsilon locked onto the beacon's coordinates and activated the Damsel's transmat system, sending both Wrex and Atlas to their destination.

The sensation of being transmatted never ceased to amaze Atlas. It started with a tingling that began to prick at the nerves as his atoms, the fundamental pieces of his being, were systematically ripped apart from one another and beamed miles away. The familiar slow fade as his consciousness entered oblivion, only to abruptly return as his body was pieced back together, its condition unchanged from the way it had been an instant ago.

Atlas landed lightly on the balls of his feet as the transmat completed and he appeared next to a waste bin in front of the smuggling depot's entrance where Vitellus had dropped the beacon.

Wrex was a different story; the Krogan, having no prior experience with the City's most common form of delivery, did not know to keep his body as vertical as possible. He landed on his face with a dull thud, his headplate negating any real physical damage. His pride, however...

"Next time you decide not to warn me about something like that, I'll chop you up and feed you to a varren." Wrex growled, shooting a glare at Atlas who was standing rather stiffly in an attempt to stop his body from shaking with laughter.

"Really, you overgrown pyjak?" The Battlemaster muttered, raising himself off the ground with his hands and knees. Atlas, seeing Wrex in such a state, finally lost full composure and began to laugh, his helmet's Asari voice synthesizer failing to fully conceal the low booming of his mirth.

It was a strange sight that Mirik and his companions happened upon as the doors to the main complex opened, revealing a hysterical Asari and a growling Krogan. The five Salarians immediately drew their pistols on the Krogan, whom they deemed to be the more dangerous of the two, before Mirik cautiously approached the intruders.

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?" The Salarian officer demanded as he shouldered his way to the front of the others. He noticed then that the Asari was the taller of the two as it stood, rising to its full height.

"My name," the Asari began, its voice dropping slowly with each word as it went from a rough alto to a rumbling tone akin to the grating of rocks. "Is Atlas, my partner here is Urdnot Wrex. Now, I'm going to give you one chance to rethink your decision, or I will kill you."

Upon hearing the Titan's words, Mirik's men opened fire with a barrage of modded rounds that forced the Krogan to take cover behind a cluster of rocks. The high explosive munitions fired by the mercenaries chipped away at the cover and forced Wrex to stay low or risk his head being blown off. Every time there was a lull in the barrage and he attempted to get draw a bead on one of them they had already fallen back into cover.

"Pyjacks." He grumbled.

As for Mirik himself, he fired off a powerful overload-incendiary combo at Atlas. A surge of electricity smashed against the Titan's shields, arcing across the invisible barrier before fizzling to nothing, followed closely by a burst of tech-fire that caused his temperature to spike before it too failed to breach his armor.

Red warning lights lit up the Titan's tactical visor, indicating that his shields had dropped into the redzone. Not willing to wait to see what else the Salarian could throw at him, Atlas drew his Avenger from over his shoulder, unfolding and firing it in one fluid motion as he made for cover behind a pile of rocks in the opposite direction of Wrex.

Mirik snarled as his shields crumpled under the barrage of rifle fire and blasted away at the Guardian's cover before ducking behind a crate and priming a grenade. After letting the timer count down so that it would detonate on impact he tossed it, arcing the explosive high into the air so that it would land at the Titan's feet. What the Salarian hadn't been counting on was the fact that Atlas was already on the move.

The explosion rippled outwards in a whirlwind of concussive force and high velocity shrapnel, obliterating the rocks that the Titan had hidden behind. Chips of stone and trails of dirt sailed through the air and a few fist sized chunks showered Mirik, forcing him to stay low and cover his head, preventing him from assessing the status of his assailant. It was this delay that sealed his fate.

Metallic screeching and a heavy crunch was the only warning Mirik received before he suddenly found himself pinned against the exterior wall of the depot, his body trapped by the crate that had been protecting him a moment ago. From the waist down everything was a mess of tangled flesh and twitching nerves, sticky from the blood spilling over his mangled limbs.

Atlas quickly glanced at the dying Salarian, making sure that it was out of the fight before raising his Avenger and unleashing a deadly onslaught of high velocity rounds that tore apart two of the Salarians engaging Wrex. The surviving two turned to face the new threat, battering Atlas's shields with micro explosives that rapidly depleted his defenses and forced the him to take cover behind the metal crate he had just pancaked Mirik with.

But, Wrex had not sat idly by while Atlas made his move. One of the Salarians suddenly felt a massive hand close around the back of his head and accelerate him towards the same boulder he had taken cover behind. The mercenary was knocked unconscious by the impact, his head snapping back from the recoil of the blow to reveal bits of bloody bone protruding from his jaw.

Eyes widening with shock, the last Salarian turned to face the Krogan who had so suddenly appeared from the side, aiming and firing its pistol point blank at the Battlemaster. Wrex's shields flared, but held, and he kneecapped the merc with a blast from his shotgun before it could get in another hit. The little amphibian's right leg was blown apart in a shower of gore and cartilage and it let loose an agonized howl as it fell onto its side.

"Not bad," Atlas chuckled, grinning as he gave his Avenger a pat on the barrel. "What do you think, Mirik?" It was all the Salarian could do to not whimper as the Titan stalked towards him, Avenger hanging loosely by his side.

"Why?" Mirik groaned, gasping for air as he continued to lose blood at an alarming rate. The edges of his vision were beginning to fade away to black, and he knew that his time was running short. If only he could reach the pistol still belted to his side. He fumbled for it, grasping, but when he felt nothing he realized that his hands had both been crushed by the crate.

"The War is coming, little Salarian. You stood in the way of the Light's victory, nothing more, nothing less." Atlas turned away from the dying Mirik and made his way over to the pile of corpses surrounding Wrex, the weapons of the dead scattered about the bodies. The Titan stooped to examine one of the pistols.

"These things seem pretty handy." Atlas commented, picking up the handgun and tossing it to Wrex. "High yield explosive rounds. They nearly depleted my shields."

Wrex looked the weapon over in his hands, holding it up to his eyes as he examined it. After a few moments his face twisted into an odd expression that could be considered something close to surprise.

"This is a Brawler." Wrex explained.

"If I wanted to punch someone, I have my fists." The Titan snarked.

"It's a high caliber weapon by Armax. Usually, they only sell these to the Turian military."

"So what's a Salarian, five actually, doing with them?" Atlas wondered, gesturing at the bodies.

"They were mercs with money and influence. Wouldn't be too hard for them to get their hands on a few." The Krogan rumbled, speaking as though he were addressing a brain-addled varren with hearing problems. Atlas decided not to comment on it.

"Vitellus," Atlas said as he opened their comms again.

"Yes?" The response was quiet and hushed, the result of Vitellus having lowered his voice so as not to be overheard.

"Mirik is dead. We'll leave the rest to you, unless of course you have other concerns." What would have normally been phrased as a question seemed more like a dismissal coming from the Titan.

"No, I've got it handled from here. I'll let you know if anything changes."

Atlas closed their link and began stripping the fallen mercenaries of their gear, all of it high-end, before retrieving the patrol beacon from the waste disposal. The evidence needed to be removed, from the dead bodies to the blood splatters, it all had to go.

"Epsilon," the Titan ordered. "Prep the bodies for transmat and send me two buckets."

A flash of blue sparked above Atlas and the items he requested fell onto the ground in front of him. Looking around, the Titan noted that most of the blood could simply be covered over and concealed with some of the sand that was so ridiculously abundant on the plane. He handed one of the buckets to Wrex.

"Hey, Wrex, do Krogan children play in sand boxes?"

"What, you mean the fighting pits? Sure, we start 'em when they're young."

"Not what I meant..."

Vitellus sat alone in conference room, nursing a mug of dextro tea in his hands, sighing as the bitter-savory taste soothed the tension that had built up from his prior meeting. It could have gone better; Mirik could have had a bit less of a stick up his ass, though the Vorcha would develop a cure for the Genophage before that happened. But, all things considered, it could have been much worse.

It was strange, he reflected, how quickly his circumstances could keep changing. As all Turians did, he had completed boot camp at the age of fifteen and continued on to serve with distinction until the age of thirty, when he was released from duty by honorable discharge. He could have reenlisted, the Hierarchy would never turn down experienced, combat-fit soldiers, but in all honesty he had grown bored of fighting pirates and slavers.

Eclipse had been something new, something fresh and exciting. The money hadn't hurt either. His training and decorated service record had elevated him through the ranks quickly, faster than any of the other officers he knew, and eventually he caught the eye of Eclipse's founder, Jona Sederis.

By the time Sederis had taken notice of him, Vitellus had found himself already sickened by many of the mercenary organization's practices: extortion, drug running, arms dealing, murder, the list went on. But, saying no to the deranged Asari was the same thing as saying "kill me now." Long had he thought of the day that Sederis would finally face judgement, and now here he sat, sipping tea and plotting the downfall of a tyrant.

Tyrants. Vitellus wasn't quite sure what to make of the strange soldier who had come to him with an offer to bring down Sederis. From what he had seen, this Atlas was an efficient killer, a great one in fact, but that did not necessarily mean that Atlas was a sadist. Plenty of mercenaries were good at what they did, but the majority of them took pleasure from the thrill of battle, not murder.

His attention was brought to the front of the room as the security lock turned green and the doors slid open to reveal Atlas and his Krogan compatriot. Neither of the two looked the worse for wear from their skirmish with Mirik and his guards, and the Titan even seemed to be carrying all of their weapons on its belt.

"You and Mirik bicker like Cayde and Zavala, minus any of the brotherly love, of course."

"Excuse me?" Vitellus had to wonder where Atlas had even encountered such strange and exotic names.

"I suppose that would make me Ikora then, always cleaning up their little squabbles."

"..."

"That's not where I wanted that analogy to go."

"Are you here for any particular reason, Atlas?"

"Yes, actually."

"You are?" Wrex snarked.

The two of them had spent the past hour back on the Damsel making modifications to their newly acquired weapons and gear while they waited for the depot to clear out. Again, Atlas had decided to push each of the pistols to its limits, resulting in one exploding when it overheated after a single shot. The Titan had come out of it unscathed, but Wrex had received some minor burns to his hands. A redundant nervous system came in handy during times like those.

"One of my contacts has been digging through Sederis' personal correspondence, and he found something." Atlas withdrew a datapad from one of his belt pockets and tossed it to Vitellus, who caught it in mid-air. The Turian went silent as he skimmed the contents, his face morphing into a grimace as he got to the end of the reports.

"So, Sederis wants me dead. Not exactly a surprise, but I thought that I had more time."

"Do you have any idea why she would want you dead?"

"It's not for any specific reason. She has a habit of killing off her seconds, thinks that they'll try to take power from her if kept around for too long."

"Little did she know..." Wrex trailed off, chuckling grimly.

"Yes, it's a good thing you two approached me when you did."

"My contact was also able to extract information on Sederis' whereabouts." Atlas tossed Vitellus another datapad.

"Hmm? Oh, that." The Turian muttered. "She's on Omega to renegotiate the terms of her deal with Aria T'loak."

"That complicates things." The data that Epsilon had recovered was only pertinent to the Eclipse leader's location, not her business. Atlas had only briefly glanced at T'loak's profile when Epsilon had finished compiling a dossier on the galaxy's major players, but he knew that she could make achieving his goals very difficult if she so chose.

"Launching an all out assault on Omega to get at Sederis is out of the question." Wrex said, growling. "T'loak is dangerous, ambitious, and has an army of mercenaries at her beck and call."

"So we go in with a small team, not too big to draw attention to ourselves, but big enough to take down Sederis and her guards." Atlas suggested.

"Just you and me?" Wrex asked. While the two of them were certainly capable of going in on their own, Vitellus had seen how they operated and knew that they would draw as much attention to themselves as a rachni in the Praesidium. A few of the officers had heard some faint gunshots and explosions at the same time that Mirik had left and it had taken a good deal of convincing on Vitellus' part to calm their concerns.

"I can lend you a few of my men, all former Blackwatch operatives. They can get you in quietly."

"Is there any way we can get onto the station without going through Aria's checkpoints?" Wrex asked.

"There are a few old transfer stations that were shut down when the mining corporations left. They're a bit further away from where you'll want to be though." Vitellus replied, remembering a tour of the station that one of Aria's lieutenants had given him several years ago.

"How far?" Atlas inquired.

"Maybe twenty kilometers on the tramway route, and then another kilometer or so through the service tunnels into the city itself. It wouldn't be so bad if they hadn't disabled life support to those sections of the station."

"Are there any trams still active in those parts of Omega?" If the answer was no, Atlas had a few ideas up his sleeve.

"No, not for a while now."

"Then it's settled," Atlas decided. "We insert via one of the old transfer stations and use the service tunnels to enter."

"That's a twenty kilometer stretch. There's no way we'll make it on foot before we run out of oxygen." Wrex pointed out.

"Who said anything about walking?" The Battlemaster could practically see the smirk on Atlas's face as he said that.

This is a shorter chapter than usual, and mostly it's because I didn't really know what else I could add without going into the next chapter anyways. I won't be near a computer for the next few days, going camping, and after that I have to start packing up for my first year of college, so there's no telling when the next chapter is going to be uploaded. With any luck I'll be able to update sometime in August. As always, feel free to leave a review if you are so inclined and I'll see you in the next chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

1.12.2156 CE. Omega Nebula. Sahrabarik. Omega Station.

The roar of the Damsel's engines echoed through the cargo hold, the muffled sound bouncing off metal crates and lockers as Atlas, Wrex, and the Blackwatch strike stream made their final preparations for the mission. Atlas stood off to the side, quietly sharpening a set of combat blades while watching the others gather their equipment.

In the center of the room, Dagger Squad, the Blackwatch-turned-mercenary operatives were busy loading their weapons with ammo mods, an alternating pattern of phasic and radioactive rounds meant to counter any biotic combatants. They were a quiet bunch, very professional and businesslike, but not as standoffish as some of the special operations teams that the Vanguard deployed.

All four of them were taller and larger than the average Turian, standing between six and a half to seven feet tall, built on frames of lean muscle. Their weapons and armor were cutting edge, as was to be expected of Eclipse, and they sported kinetic barriers that even the Titan would have to work at to deplete. Instead of Eclipse yellow, the former Blackwatch unit wore midnight black on their custom made armor, hand crafted to their exact specifications.

As for Wrex, he cleaned his shotgun.

"Atlas," Epsilon called over the secure comms link that Atlas and Wrex shared. "Two minutes from the insertion point."

Silently acknowledging the Ghost with a pulse of his Light, Atlas signalled for the strike team to form up by the loading ramp exit at the back of the cargo hold. Arrayed in a line beside the Titan were six sparrows, though only one of them stood apart from the rest. The first five were standard, black and white, S-10's, accessible enough for even the uninitiated to drive. The last one however, was something else entirely.

Forged from lightweight yet durable plastics, the Lightrunner was a thing of beauty, shimmering black under the artificial lights, trimmed with neon orange. Extending out from the sides of the engine, extending past the front, were two rectangular stabilizing "wings" with hollows cut out in the center, leaving little more than a frame. But, aesthetics were not all that the Titan's personal sparrow boasted.

The Lightrunner's original engine had been removed by Amanda Holliday at Atlas' request and replaced by one of alien origins. It had been with great care and careful planning that the City shipwright dismantled the Timebreaker's engine cores and installed them on the Lightrunner's chassis. Now, modified with Vex technology and enhanced by the City's finest engineering, the Titan's sparrow was among the swiftest in the Vanguard fleet.

"Listen up," Atlas said, addressing his partner and the Turians with a nod of his head. "We're two minutes out from the insertion point. Sederis shouldn't be expecting us, but let's keep the comms chatter to a minimum for now." The Titan shifted his attention to Dagger Squad.

"Once we enter the city it's up to you to get us to the target as quietly as possible. The less exposure we have with the locals, the less chance of Aria discovering Vitellus' involvement. Are there any questions?"

"With all due respect sir, why are you and the Krogan here if this is a stealth op?" Junius, Dagger Lead, asked, his tone remaining respectful. Vitellus seemed to trust these strangers, and that afforded them a degree of deference that the former Blackwatch operative would never show to anyone else.

Atlas had introduced himself as himself rather than as his Asari persona for the sake of convenience. It would be ridiculously obvious that he wasn't one of the monogendered space sirens the second he started fighting.

"Because when we get to Sederis, Wrex and I will be the only reason any of you walk away from this alive."

"You're a biotic?" The Turian asked. Wrex had demonstrated some of his biotics during a training session that they had held the day before, but not Atlas.

"Of a sort." Atlas explained in half-truth, not bothering to lie to the man.

"Fair enough." Junius conceded. None of his team were a Cabal, and although they could easily bring down most biotics with their superior training and weapons, things could get hairy if they went up against several squads of Asari commandos without biotics of their own.

"Any other questions?" Atlas scanned the hidden faces of the rest of Dagger Squad, their expressions unreadable behind tinted visors, before turning his attention to Wrex, who looked about as impassive as a rock. "Alright then, let's get this show on the road."

Moving over to the Lightrunner, Atlas mounted it and stowed away three of the modded pistols, that he had recovered from Mirik's team, in the saddle bags. The other two were holstered at his sides. Following Atlas' example, the rest of the strike team mounted their sparrows, depositing their loose gear in the saddle bags.

Atlas had given all of them a crash course the day before, taught them how to maintain their balance and make turns without tipping over. Needless to say, there were a few mishaps, but in the end they all managed to successfully hit the S-10's top speed without killing themselves. The same could not be said for many a newborn Guardian.

"Alright, get ready." Atlas advised, relaying a chrono update from Epsilon. "Thirty seconds."

A sharp exhale of air swept through the room as Atlas hit the release on the loading ramp and the room began to violently depressurize. Stray streams of dust whipped past the team's helmeted heads and out the door as the Damsel dropped into a steep descent towards the planet's surface, each team member gripping their sparrow for dear life as their bodies were lifted back towards the cockpit section. The only thing keeping them from flying end over end to the other side of the ship was that each sparrow was held in place by metal clamps protruding from the floor.

"Five seconds!" Atlas shouted, his voice carrying clearly over the whipping of rapidly escaping oxygen. Now the Damsel began to straighten out, flying low and parallel to the grey rock ground in preparation for the strike team's drop.

"Four." The Titan felt his body flooding with adrenaline, felt the thumping of his heart growing faster over the thrum of the ship's engines.

"Three." He took a deep breath, mastering the sudden surge of activity coursing from nerve to nerve.

"Two." His heart rate slowed as he quietly hummed a pre Golden Age tune he had once heard, dropping until he could hardly feel it anymore.

"One."

"Go, go, go!"

Six sparrows jettisoned out of Damsel's belly, afterburner trails glowing hot in the cold vacuum of space as they rushed to meet the meteorite below them. Atlas hit the ground first, activating a secondary set of thrusters that slowed his descent just enough as to prevent his speeder from being dented upon landing.

Behind him the rest of the team dropped in with varying degrees of success, some of them wobbling a bit before engaging their main thrusters again, but there no major incidents. Looking up at the objective marker on his HUD, Atlas gestured behind him, signalling for the others to follow. The path to the spaceport on Omega, the major trading hub and only population center, was a straight shot from their infil point.

Ahead of them, beyond barren planes of grey and hills of rock, was the old transfer station. It was less than a square mile in size and what few buildings there were were small and creaking with age. This was where dreams came to die.

A main road cut through the tiny station, not paved, but it had clearly been excavated so that it lay flat, and connected to the tramline that ran straight to the spaceport. That was the way in.

Atlas throttled the Lightrunner's boosters and sped on ahead of the team, his visor running automatic scans for any signs of life. The scans came back negative, but Atlas refused to let his guard down. Every Guardian eventually learned the lesson that even the most derelict of graves could be a potential deathtrap. It was a lesson that had proven fatal for many.

"Atlas," Wrex spoke, hailing the Titan over their private comms. "What's your plan for taking out Sederis? I mean, when we actually have to fight her. These Dagger guys are good, sure, and I have my biotics, but we won't be able to take her without your powers."

"I know," Atlas responded, glancing behind him at the Turians. They were coming up on the entrance to the tramline now, a yawning maw carved into the side of a large hill. "At best, they'll keep their mouths shut. At worst, we'll have to kill them."

"They could be useful, more than useful, if we gain their loyalties." The Titan could see how obtaining a squad of former Turian spec ops might be beneficial in the long run, but he wasn't sure how many people he wanted knowing the truth. Vitellus would eventually be told, his future position as Eclipse's leader necessitated it, but grunts, even the Blackwatch elite, might talk.

"Let's get through this mission first." Atlas decided, gunning the throttle again.

"Agreed."

Inside the entrance to the tramline was the wreckage of one of the old shuttles that used to take the miners to and from the spaceport. Since the waystation's life support had been cut not too long after the mining corporations left, none of the leftover equipment had aged noticeably. The rails were still intact, two metal beams that ran parallel to one another and faded into the darkness of the tunnel as they went deeper in.

"Through here," Atlas commed, speaking to the entire team this time. "And watch your spacing. The terrain up ahead is rocky, and we don't need any collisions."

Five voices chirped in confirmation as Atlas switched on his sparrow's headlights, which were more floodlights than they were the typical lighting apparatus that personal vehicles were usually equipped with. The team cut through the dark of the tunnel, illuminating the path before them as they followed the tram passage. There was little chatter to be had as they went, and any attempts were short-lived, stifled by the sheer stillness of their surroundings. Though perhaps Dagger squad was talking amongst themselves via their own private communique.

It was dark down there, as dark as anywhere Atlas had ever been, but he found that he didn't mind it so much. There was none of the invisible, stifling blight that was so prevalent wherever the forces of the Darkness lurked. No, it was just quiet. Quiet and dark.

Fifteen kilometers left to the city, Atlas noted as he glanced at the objective marker on his HUD. He figured there was more than enough time for him to think about how he was going to take down several squads of Asari commandos and Sederis herself, all without reveals the full extent of his powers. Atlas had gotten lucky back on the Citadel; there had only been two of the Asari specialists and he had gotten the drop on them, ending the fight quickly.

But, against a few dozen? Things would get messy fast.

The former Blackwatch team's initial assault would need to thin out the enemy's ranks before the Titan could get into the thick of things. Epsilon had compiled a report on Commando training and capabilities following the mission to snatch Vitellus, and he knew that in hand-to-hand combat, each and every one of the Commandos could probably hold him off long enough for their comrades to flank him. Even the advantage provided by Atlas' superior strength would be partially negated by the fact that Commandos were trained to augment their strikes with biotics. An attack like that could kill the average non-Krogan combatant with one hit.

When it came to an all out melee, Atlas knew that he could count on Wrex to have his back. His biotics were powerful, or so Wrex said, but Asari Commandos were just as dangerous. The only saving grace here was that Wrex was about as equally experienced as Atlas in the art of war. Few save for only the most active Guardians could boast such a claim.

"Junius," the Turian in question turned his head to look at the Titan. "Those ammo mods of yours... how quickly can you down a Commando using them?"

"They're the improved models of the ones we used during the Krogan Rebellions, capable of bringing down a Battlemaster's barriers in seconds." That drew a growl from Wrex. "Against a Commando? She won't survive the first burst."

"If you can hit that first burst." Wrex muttered.

"Quit it, you two. We need to pick up the pace." Atlas gunned the throttle, the glow of his afterburners casting dancing shadows across the walls of the tunnel. The racial issues between Turians and Krogan could wait until after Sederis was six feet under.

"Service tunnel is just up ahead." Atlas announced.

"I copy," Junius acknowledged. "Cameras still show a clear entry."

Epsilon had nestled several malware packages into the station's security systems, preventing anyone from accessing the service tunnel doors and cameras besides himself. Not that anyone other than bums and vagrants would have a reason to be snooping around in the station's abandoned sections.

The team dismounted their sparrows as they came up in front of the metal door to the entry point, engines and lights powering down. Epsilon, of course, would transmat the speeders back onto the Damsel as soon as Dagger was gone. Atlas was the first one to the tunnel door, which opened upon a prompt by his Ghost.

Following Atlas, the rest of the team made their way through the winding maze of metal hallways and flickering lights, their quiet footsteps amplified by the narrow confines. Wrex stood directly behind the Titan, then Junius and the rest of Dagger Squad, each of them with their weapons raised over the shoulder of the one in front.

They passed by a few Vorcha, gnawing away at scraps of food, and the odd Batarian or two, but drew no real attention from them. The destitute souls were too absorbed in their own hunger to notice the heavily armed soldiers.

The journey through the service tunnels was brief and without incident, courtesy of Epsilon directing the team around any of Aria's patrols, and they soon found themselves on an open street, seemingly devoid of any activity.

"We'll follow your lead from here on out, Junius." Atlas said, scanning the surrounding rooftops for potential threats.

"Acknowledged." Junius pulled up a map of the station on his omni-tool, a preplanned route drawn digitally on the layout, "Mora, take point."

"Yes, sir." The Turian's voice was distinctly feminine, though the armor made it impossible for Atlas to tell if her physique was any different from that of her male counterparts.

Atlas watched as the Dagger Squad pushed on ahead, sweeping and and clearing their silent advance with a precision and fluidity that reassured the Titan of their capabilities. They moved in a mode akin to Hunter infiltration cadres, making rapid progress while still covering each other's blind spots, spotting and assessing any and all possible kill zones that they might walk into. Coming from a society so heavily structured around military service, it only made sense that Turian spec ops would perform at such a high level.

It was fortunate indeed that Dagger Squad were such talented stealth operatives. Wrex made enough noise to wake the dead, a fact not aided by his constant grumbling. Clearly, the Krogan wasn't one for the silent approach, but to be fair, neither was Atlas. What the Titan did understand, however, was that sometimes the slower and quieter method was necessary to ensure a complete and utter victory.

During the Reclamation of Mars, Atlas had deployed some of those same Hunter cadres to effectively cripple Cabal communications and supply lines, before dropping five orders of Titans on top of the enemy's unsuspecting heads. Swift and brutal, thorough and successful.

"What do you suggest, Junius?"

The strike team had holed themselves up inside of an empty apartment across the street from the penthouse that Sederis had taken up residence in, and were currently looking over the schematics of the building.

"Sederis is set up on the top floor, north side," the Turian officer muttered, pointing at the holo display in front of them. "Dagger Three made visual confirmation, but we don't know where her guards are."

"We're blind in there," Atlas admitted. "They've disabled the security cameras and I can't pick up their comms from here." For Atlas, "I" meant Epsilon, whose best guess was that the Asari were using short range, heavily encrypted comms that he just couldn't access.

"My money's on choke points inside each stairwell, and probably around the elevator halls." Dagger Two, Mora, advised.

"But, they're going to be on the upper floors, closer to Sederis. Aria's mercs will be patrolling the ground," Dagger Three, Valen, pointed out. "And there are too many of them for us to take the front entrance without raising the alarm."

"Which will give Sederis time to escape." Mora finished, sighing.

"So we take a top-down approach," Dagger Four, Palus, interjected. "Rapid, overwhelming assault on Sederis' penthouse, in and out before the majority of her guards know what's going on."

"We'd only have twenty seconds at most before reinforcements arrive, and that's if we're lucky." Palus rubbed the back of his neck as Mora pointed out the flaw in his plan.

For a moment Dagger Squad fell silent, each of them mentally coming up with possible entry strategies before discarding them with equal speed. Then, Junius turned his eye to Atlas, who had been silent ever since Dagger started their planning.

"If we do this right," the mercenary started. "We should be able to enter via the skylight, silence the guards on the top floor, and lace the stairwells and elevator shafts with explosives. It should buy us another few minutes, at least."

"It's a good plan, Junius," Atlas spoke up, meeting the Turian's gaze. "If you can do what you just suggested, me and Wrex can handle Sederis and the guards in her room."

"How do we get up there?" Wrex asked, looking out the window and at the fifty story building dubiously.

"We can enter via the roof of the building next to hers, it's about the same height, but if we blow out any windows to get in someone's bound to notice." Mora suggested.

"We wouldn't be using normal breaching charges." Junius said, chuckling. "Palus, did you bring any exothermics?"

"Nope. Sorry, boss." Dagger Four reported.

"Well, shit, any other ideas?"

"No worries, Dagger, I can make us an entrance." Atlas said, a smirk dancing on his features, one which Wrex mirrored.

"You have exothermic charges?" The look on Junius' face was doubtful at best. He certainly hadn't marked Atlas as being fond of unconventional warfare methods.

"Something like that."

"Valen, here," Dagger Three commed from his perch atop the building adjacent to Sederis'. "Room is clear. Thank the Spirits for glass walls."

Across from him, rappelling down from the roof of Sederis' penthouse, the strike team settled themselves into position in preparation to quietly breach the empty apartment on the south side of the building, opposite their target.

"Affirmative, Three, breaching now." Atlas announced. What happened next was something that would warrant the Titan a barrage of questions when the mission was over.

Most Guardians learned how to control their Light in such a way that their powers almost always manifested themselves into some sort of tool, be it a barrier or a weapon. It was too dangerous to teach one how to harness their power in its purest form, be it Void, Arc, or Solar. Warlocks did, obviously, but that was just the way Warlocks were. For Titans and Hunters, there were other, better uses of their time. But, no veteran Guardian got to where they were without learning a few tricks.

The Light blossomed from the palm of his hand, rushing out with a rabid hunger to embrace the inch thick glass panel. All throughout the areas of contact, fed by a steady stream of Solar Light, molecules rearranged themselves from solid to liquid form as the glass turned molten, dribbling down and away, and hopefully not landing on someone's face. It would be rather unfortunate if something like that were to happen, but it would hardly weigh significantly on the Titan's conscience.

Atlas turned to look at the members of Dagger Squad present on the side of the building, faces slack with wonder behind their combat visors. Although they couldn't see their expressions, Atlas and Wrex could guess at them.

"Join the club." Wrex chuckled, exposing his razor teeth.

Ignoring the stunned Dagger Squad, Atlas swung himself into the breach, landing on the carpeted floor with a dull thump. Pistol in his left and combat knife in his right, he moved forward towards the door, sidling up next to it. He was followed soon after by Wrex, whose massive weight, bulk, and lack of agility nearly caused him to faceplant when he swung in.

"Couldn't have been a tech power, and biotics can't produce flames." Atlas heard Mora muttering as she came in.

"Why couldn't it have been a tech power? He's packing in every other department." Palus retorted.

"Because that kind of heat would fry his omni-tool, not to mention burn his arm?" Mora went on.

"Maybe this can wait?" Valen posited as he entered. With his overwatch from the adjacent skyscraper no longer required, he had crossed over to the roof of the target building via a zipline he had set up.

"Cut the chatter," Junius barked, reprimanding them. "We've got a mission to complete."

Mora and Palus replaced Atlas and Wrex at the entrance, bringing their silenced assault rifles to bear as the holo-lock turned green and the door slid open. Their lines of fire covered either end of the hallway outside, Palus aiming over Mora, who kneeling in a firing position.

"Clear." Came the affirmative from both Turians.

From there, Dagger Squad split up, each of them taking one of the four stairwells situated around the building, clearing the hallways of hostiles as they went. Meanwhile, Atlas and Wrex primed the elevator doors, setting explosive satchels for proximity detonation. The first person to come up those lifts would get a nasty surprise.

Not wanting to waste any more time, the Guardian and the Battlemaster made their way to Sederis' penthouse, both eager for battle. The entrance had no holo-lock symbol on it, and was instead fitted with a data chip scanner. Both the door and the walls around it were solid metal, too thick for Wrex's shotgun to punch through.

"Atlas," came the announcement from Junius. "Charges are set. Waiting on your go."

"Give me a minute, Junius." Atlas responded, signalling Epsilon to come down. The little Ghost appeared in a flash of light, hovering about his shoulder. "Epsilon, can you get this open?"

"I can crack Hive tryptarch runes with my eyes closed, and you're asking me if I can hack a door?" Its voice had taken on a faux haughtiness in response to Atlas' question.

"I mean, you're not going to trip any alarms this time, right?"

"Very funny."

A moment later, filled by some tuneless whistling from the Ghost, the little red light on the scanner lit up green, followed by several confused exclamations from inside the room.

Apparently, they hadn't been expecting guests.

"Do it!" Atlas ordered, not bothering to wait for his command to be executed before he opened the door and ran headfirst into a wall of gunfire. Shotgun pellets, armor piercing rounds, and even a glass table, which had been biotically thrown, slammed into him, bringing his charge to a halt as he was forced to dive behind a column to his left.

The incoming, overwhelming firepower ground suddenly to a stop as the building shook with explosions, knocking the Commandos off balance, some of them even falling to the ground. Atlas, having kept his center of balance low in anticipation of the violent shudders that would be caused by the explosions, launched himself at the nearest Asari, leading with a front kick that sent the unprepared alien flying through the window behind her.

Now that his vision was no longer impaired by weapons fire, Atlas took in the situation with a trained eye, glancing over and assessing the threats without missing a beat.

To the left, three Asari behind an overturned table, this one made of metal rather than glass, two of them still regaining their balance.

To the right, one stood guarding Sederis, who was already glowing blue with biotics as she glared at the Titan.

"Wrex!" he shouted. "Take the left!"

From behind the doorframe, the Battlemaster came barreling into the room, his biotics flaring around him as he Charged into the Commandos in cover behind the table, roaring as he went. Despite centuries worth of knowledge and decades of combat experience, nothing quite prepared one for fighting a Krogan Battlemaster in hand-to-hand combat.

Trusting Wrex to hold off the other guards, Atlas turned his attention to the Asari in front of him, who had activated some form of melee weapon on her omni-tool that sparked red with energy. In response, Atlas holstered his pistol and switched his combat knife to his right hand, an action that caused the Commando's eyes to widen.

To call what the Titan held in his hand a knife would be a gross, and fatal, understatement. The blade itself was easily the length of his forearm, nearly a foot and a half long. Rather than the smooth, light blades that the ancient Asari had once favored, this one was reminiscent of those carried by Krogan mercenaries and Batarian pirates; toothed and heavy. Its width alone was a dead giveaway that the blade would strike with all the force of a hammer blow, but the way that Atlas gracefully twirled it in his hand told the Commando that his attacks would resemble anything but the clumsy manner in which blunt force weapons were typically swung.

The Asari made the first move, probing the Titan's defenses with a combination of rapid stabs and kicks, aimed to throw him off balance and provide an opening. Atlas, however, gave his attacker no such opportunity. For each strike and kick thrown at him, the Titan responded in kind, his blade meeting hers, his shins checking hers.

It went on for a few more seconds, the two of them exchanging blows, before the Commando saw her opportunity. Seeing the Titan's center of balance sway slightly, putting all of his weight on one foot, she lashed out with a forceful kick that should have connected with the side of his knee. What the Asari failed to take into account, however, was the speed with which Atlas recovered his balance, and the fact that he was wearing thick, hyper-dense armor.

His shin met hers, and hers simply wasn't strong enough.

Atlas allowed himself a brief snort of amusement. Years ago, when they were both relatively young, he and Mal had had a sparring bout in which the Warlock had gone for the Titan's legs, hoping to knock him off balance. The lesson learned that day was that kicking at Atlas' legs would break your own. Fortunately for Mal, they had only been sparring. Such was not the case for the Commando.

Now the Titan launched his own assault, focusing on the Asari's already broken leg. Some might have called it dishonorable, but in Atlas' mind everything was fair game on the battlefield. The swift, compact slashes of his blade eventually found their way through the Asari's defenses, opening shallow wounds just above where her brow should have been.

Head wounds against human opponents caused heavy bleeding, and the resulting blood flow was highly effective at blinding opponents. Apparently, the same was true when fighting Asari.

Now forced to fend off her opponent while in a half blind state, the Commando found herself unable to keep pace with the Guardian's attacks against her vulnerable limb. She collapsed, screaming as the Titan's boot caved in one of her kneecaps. Lying there on the ground, her leg bent at an unnatural angle, it was all she could do not to whimper when she saw a flash of steel above her.

But, as the Titan's blade came down to deliver the final blow, a wave of biotic energy knocked him off his feet, flinging him across the room and putting an Atlas sized dent in the metal wall. After a brief shake of his head to clear his dazed state, the Titan disentangled himself from the wall, landing on the ground on all fours as looked at his assailant.

Sederis stood over her incapacitated guard, blue sparks of biotic discharge still dancing across her fingertips. The Eclipse leader's face lit up in manic excitement when she realized that the Titan had survived her Shockwave.

"Oh," Sederis chuckled, drawing her own knife from its sheath on her lower back. "This is going to be fun."

Atlas quickly made a mental note of Sederis' physique, taking note of her height, the length of each of her limbs, where her center of balance rested. By all reports, she was just as dangerous as he.

The weapon she held in her right hand was a stark contrast to his own. Where his was thick and heavy, made for cracking brittle chitin, hers was slim and light- a dueling blade. While Atlas knew that he had the distinct advantage in reach, she would have speed over him. How she would combine that speed with her biotics remained to be seen.

Atlas drew his pistol and snapped off three shots with blinding speed, all of them headshots. The first two connected, explosive rounds slamming against Sederis' shields and detonating harmlessly in front of her. The third one never hit its target, instead sailing harmlessly past the space where the Asari had quite literally disappeared from.

Eyes wide with surprise, Atlas barely brought his knife up in time to deflect a horizontal slash that would have cut open his throat. Her blade was glowing now, sheathed in the telltale blue glow of biotics, as were her arms and legs.

Wait... Biotics could Blink?

The Titan struck back, a rapid elbow strike connecting solidly with her cheek, which flared with biotics as he made contact. Instead of the bone crushing results that he had hoped for, Sederis simply backed away sporting a dark bruise on her face. Her biotics not only enhanced her strength, but her durability as well.

It certainly explained why Wrex was nigh unkillable.

Pressing his temporary advantage, Atlas stabbed down at Seders' head, aiming for the soft spots in between the hard tentacle-like protrusions sprouting from the top. The speed and power of his attack forced her to leap back and out of the way, putting even more distance between herself and the Titan.

But, the Eclipse founder reengaged just as quickly as she had retreated, setting upon Atlas with a flurry of biotically augmented stabs and kicks that forced him onto the defensive. The wild ferocity of her assault was matched only been its blinding speed, and it was all Atlas could do to simply focus on mitigating the incoming damage.

Two solid, enhanced punches got past the Titan's guard, both slamming into his gut, leaving Atlas momentarily stunned, giving Sederis all the time she needed to drive her dueling blade through the soft point between his helmet and his gorget.

Immediately, the Guardian reeled away, red warning symbols lighting up on his tactical visor as it recognized the breach. Luckily for Atlas, the relic iron weave that his undersuit was crafted from was thick, much thicker than any skin tight suit had a right to be. The Titan silently examined the warm sensation now trickling down the front of his throat and assessed it as a shallow nick, not worthy of any immediate medical attention.

But, despite how superficial the wound was, the fact that Sederis had been able to open it was worthy of his immediate attention.

"Wrex, get clear!"

The Krogan in question had just managed to overpower the Commandos in cover behind the table, a combination of his biotics, redundant organs, and a big fucking shotgun. And, as he looked over at Atlas to see what the problem was, his eyes widened with shock.

From where he stood, Wrex could see the proverbial shackles slipping from the Titan's Light as his eyes began to burn with starfire, visible through the dark tint of his visor.

That could only mean one thing:

Arma-fucking-geddon.

As big as the penthouse was, there was no way that he was about to risk being in the same room as Atlas when the Titan unleashed his power. Of their own volition, Wrex's legs carried his body towards the door posthaste, sending him barrelling straight into a surprised Dagger Squad, knocking them all back from the door and into the hallway.

"Spirits! What's wrong with you?" Mora exclaimed, flat on her back after colliding with the Krogan.

"Get fucking clear!" Was the only response as Wrex picked himself up and continued to flee as fast as his legs could carry him, back towards where they had entered the building.

"Let's go, Dagger!" Junius shouted, keeping close on the Battlemaster's heels. When a Krogan said to run, you ran. If the situation was bad enough to scare a member of the species that had obliterated the Rachni and very nearly overthrown the Council, Junius didn't even want to know.

The strike team, minus Atlas, didn't stop until they had reached the broken window they had rappelled in from, and only when they had all safely ziplined back across to the adjacent building did Junius stop to question Wrex as to what was going on.

"Where's Atlas?" As if to answer his question, the entire penthouse flashed with explosive fury, orange flames bursting outwards as windows shattered and support beams buckled. Such was the spectacle created by the Titan's Light that it shone as a beacon above Omega's cityscape, commanding the city's undivided attention.

"Spirits." whispered Pallus, mouth hanging slightly open in wonder.

"Was that him?" ask Mora, the leathery skin beneath her carapace paling at the sight.

"No way anyone could have survived that." Valen muttered.

"Not even a heavy mech could've survived that." Palus agreed.

"So now what?" Junius asked, addressing Wrex. "Do we still head for the same exfil point?"

"We wait." Wrex replied. "Atlas will be joining us shortly."

Sweltering, smothering, unrelenting heat was all that Sederis could feel as the world around her vanished, replaced by a raging inferno of eldritch flames whose insatiable appetite consumed the carpets and furniture. It was only thanks to her quick reflexes and powerful biotics that she had survived, her Barrier scarcely holding against the vicious, pyromaniacal onslaught.

And in the center of it all stood the Titan, her mysterious assassin, clad in archaic armor trimmed with stylized runes and an odd, sloped helm engraved with the iconography of an alien tree. The long, jagged blade that had crossed hers moments ago was gone, replaced by a smith's hammer, its head beaked like that of a bird of prey's.

The power radiating from it was palpable.

Curling and lapping at his feet, as if yoked on a leash, gouts of fire snapped and howled, eager to burst forth once again from their master, eager to feed on the flesh presented before them.

His next attack would shatter her Barrier, of that there was no question.

"Wait!" she pleaded, arms spread before her. "Whatever you're being paid, I'll triple it!"

Sederis gritted her teeth as the words left her mouth, the taste of admitting defeat staining her tongue with an acrid flavor. This wasn't how it ended, she told herself. When he let his guard down, when money and power swayed him to turn his back on her and leave, she would kill him and things would be back to the way they should be, with her on top of the pile.

"Money and power didn't bring me here." The incandescent silhouette of a mouth lit up behind the Titan's visor as he spoke, an echo of otherworldly power seeping through his words. "I'm here for you, Sederis."

"Get your head out of that righteous hole it's stuck in! Everyone wants money and everyone wants power; those are the only things in this world that mean something!"

"Of course they mean something," said Atlas, nodding his head before lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "Just not to me."

And there it was: Atlas could not be bought, not like her guards, not like the corrupt lawyers and politicians in her pocket, not like an army or a fleet. But, it was not because the allure of wealth and promises of power did not tempt the Titan. He traded in a higher form of currency.

The Hammer of Sol went forth, scorching flames trailing in its wake as it tore through her barrier and would have torn through her had she not dashed out of the way, biotic energy whisping from her body as she enveloped herself in a Barrier. Frenzied, Sederis threw herself at her opponent with reckless abandon, her blade slashing down at the top of the Titan's head.

Blade met flesh, sinking through with an ease that surprised even Sederis, and she rolled to a stop behind the Titan, her scorched lungs sucking down shallow and ragged breaths. Taking two more, deeper, breaths to steady herself, the Asari slowly came back to her senses, the feeling in her arms and legs coming back to her. That was when she noticed that her weapon had becoming considerably lighter.

The blade of her weapon was gone, melted.

A smoldering grip wrapped itself around her neck and she knew no more.

Wrex and the four members of Dagger Squad were waiting quietly in the shadows of the service tunnels when Atlas returned to them, his arrival heralded by the heavy clunking of metal boots. The Turians murmured amongst themselves, for until that moment they had thought the Titan dead, his body incinerated by the raging inferno that had destabilized and later collapsed the building. Much to their surprise, his armor was untouched by soot or flame; in fact, it gleamed despite the dimness of the tunnels.

Wrex regarded Atlas for a moment, giving his partner a critical look. "I thought you were trying to stay of the grid."

"She pissed me off." Muttered Atlas, absent-mindedly prodding the point where Sederis' weapon had nearly pierced his throat.

"Was that really a good reason?" The Krogan asked, leaning back and levelling him with a glare.

"Maybe not," Atlas conceded. "She was good and I underestimated her, and because of that I nearly lost control."

" _Nearly_ lost control?" Junius snorted. "You levelled a skyscraper!"

"I could've levelled the city."

"..."

Valen, Palus and Mora looked on in disbelief. "Spirits."

"What are you?" Junius wondered, voicing the others' unspoken question.

"There is a war coming, one that this galaxy is not prepared for," The Titan's armor glowed as he spoke, his words mingling with his Light. "And you have the choice, right now, to join my side, and fight for all that you hold dear, or die here."

"You would kill us?"

"You've seen too much."

Atlas was dead serious, that much was clear to Junius as he made note of the way that the Titan's posture had shifted, his body ready to spring as soon as the wrong words left the Turian's mouth. Dagger Lead had full confidence in his team's ability to take down an entire platoon of Krogan berserkers, but at that moment he had no particular desire to see how they would stack up against this stranger.  
Jona Sederis, founder of Eclipse, mass murderer, veritable psychopath, and one of the most powerful biotics in the galaxy, was dead by this stranger's hands.

No, he decided. Dagger wouldn't be meeting their end in that tunnel.

"Fine," said Junius, sighing. "What war are you talking about?"

Epsilon appeared in front of the Turian officer, facing its Guardian. "The tunnels are clear. No one's watching us."

Junius managed to hide his surprise at the little AI's sudden appearance, resisting his natural urge to engage it as a hostile target lest he invite Atlas' ire.

"The coming war will plunge this galaxy into endless night," Atlas whispered, his hushed tones carrying along through the emptiness of the service tunnels. "It will come in a ravening tide of seething claws and chitin, marching on the blood soaked wartreads of beings as ancient as the stars themselves."

"What are you talking about? The Rachni?"

"No," Wrex cut in, recalling and shuddering with bone chilling tremors at that memory of pure dread he had experienced in the bowels of Sekhmet. "It's worse than the Rachni."

"Then why haven't you gone to the Council with what you know?" Exclaimed Mora. "If this threat is as dangerous as you claim, then we should be preparing!"

"Would your Council believe that their destruction will come from beyond this galaxy? There are many who would refute absolute evidence rather than face the truth."

"Beyond this galaxy?" Junius wondered.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Palus grumbled.

"How do you know about this?" At this question, Atlas appraised Mora with a nod.

"Because," said the Guardian, releasing the seals on his helmet and removing it from his head. "this is not my galaxy."

The four Turians stood in silence as they looked upon Atlas' alien visage, his tan skin and long, black hair that hung down to his shoulders. They looked upon the myriad patterns of interjoining scars carved into his face and marvelled at the sheer brutality of it. And his eyes, they glowed, but not like the azure blue of biotics.

They burned with all the fury of undying suns.

"Shit." Junius muttered.

 **So it's been a while since the last chapter was uploaded. The past few weeks have been a bit chaotic, what with acclimating to college and all, but I think that I'm getting into the rhythm of things. As always, feel free to leave a review, whether you have harsh criticism or suggestions.**

 **Thanks for reading and I'll see you in the next chapter.**


	9. Chapter 9

1.12.2156 CE. Galactic Location Unknown. Aboard the _Quite Content Damsel_.

"This," Atlas said, gesturing at the frozen picture of Hive Thrall being projected against a wall of the Damsel's loading bay. "Is a Thrall. Among the ranks of the Hive they are the most numerous, but they are also the weakest. That does not mean, however that they should be underestimated."

The Titan noted approvingly that all four of the Turians in front of him were listening attentively, their eyes fixed on the image displayed before them. Only moments ago he had explained to them a brief history of Humanity's downfall and continued survival, and of the Guardians who fought that war unending. Atlas was glad to see that Dagger Squad had taken it all in stride.

"Those claws look vicious." Mora noted. "Can they cut through armor?" Out of Dagger Squad, she seemed to be the quickest study.

"Indeed." Atlas confirmed. "Those are rending claws, capable of slicing through even a Titan's wargear. They will use swarm tactics in an attempt to separate you from your comrades. You must not allow that."

"What about weaknesses?" asked Junius. "Its carapace doesn't look too thick."

Atlas nodded, though his words were less than heartening. "Looks can be deceiving, Junius. It's carapace gives it nominal protection against small arms fire, though the weapons you use should be capable of penetrating. But, time spent shooting it's body is time wasted. Like all organics, Thralls have brains, and a well placed headshot will kill it instantly."

"If it's armor is that light then they're probably quick, hard to track." muttered Valen.

"Correct," the Titan confirmed. "And that is why, as we speak, Epsilon is setting up a training VR to simulate a skirmish against Hive opposition."

"Next," Atlas continued, changing the projected image with a swipe on his omnitool. "Is the Acolyte, the basic foot soldier of the Hive legions. Their armor is thicker than a Thrall's, and they wield one of two ranged weapons: The Shredder, a standard rifle that fires tracking rounds, or the Boomer, a grenade launcher. Both of these fire energy based projectiles."

Mora examined the weapons, Boomer and Shredder, with a keen eye. "What are the rates of fire on those things?"

"Shredders are semi-automatic, and the bolts they fire are slow-moving." the Titan explained. "Boomers are also semi-automatic, but can fire multiple shots in rapid succession. It should be noted that the projectiles can be arced over cover, and Acolytes spotted with them should be marked as priority targets."

"What kind of tactics should we expect from them?" Junius asked. As squad leader, it was his job to know the best way to keep his team alive and eliminate the opposition.

"You can expect them to engage you with standard infantry tactics." Atlas explained. "One squad will pin you with suppressing fire while another moves to flank. Your best counter will be to end firefights quickly. If Acolytes have a weakness, it's their inability to small teams trained in asymmetric warfare."

"This doesn't seem so bad. Sure, they're creepy, but nothing we can't handle." Palus chuckled.

This drew the a withering glare from the Titan, his eyes flaring briefly at such a foolish statement. Legends, heroes, and friends had fallen to the dark advances of the Hive, and this little Turian dared to suggest that the threat was trivial in nature.

"Thralls and Acolytes are base creatures, bottom-feeders whose many thousands of deaths only serve to pave the way for their elite."

"Knights," Atlas began, his voice rising as the projection changed once more. "Are the true warriors of the Hive. They are as strong as a Krogan and their chitinous armor is thick enough to absorb sustained rifle fire. The front of its face is the only unarmored part of its body, and all of the middle and high ranking Knights are equipped with strong, personal energy shields. They will engage you either with ranged weapons, or with Cleavers."

"A Cleaver... is that what it sounds like?" questioned Mora.

"It is so much more than its namesake," Atlas said, his tone dark and somber. "It is a sword imbued with Darkness. The weight of its blows will crush your bones, and its jagged edge will tear through the thickest of armor with impunity. With that unholy weapon, a single Knight is entirely capable of carving through your team."

"There's really nothing we can do at close range?" Palus whispered.

"No. The Knight lives by the Sword Logic. It is their belief that the sword connects wielder to victim, acting as a soulbridge of cold metal."

"Do not attempt to fight a Knight in melee combat. You will lose your soul."

"So how do we fight them?" muttered Junius. "If they have strong shields and thick armor, we won't be able to stop them from closing the gap."

"A Guardian's weapon, steeped in cleansing Light, can dispatch a Knight as if it were a common foot soldier. But, to destroy one by mortal means it would be best if you used explosives."

"What about phasic and armor-piercing mods?" Valen wondered aloud.

"You can test that out in the simulation." the Titan suggested. "Next we have Wizards and Ogres. Should you be unfortunate enough to be forced to engage one of these creatures without heavy ordinance: run, for they are embodiments of the Darkness, their very beings shaped by it."

"Why do you need us then?" Palus exclaimed. "If we can't even fight half of these things, why are you telling us any of this?"

"Never be so foolish as to despair." Atlas had met many a hero, untouched by the Light, who had made a difference in the long war. "Not all who serve the Light were born into it. I would not have enlisted your help and given you this information if I intended for you to die as fodder to the enemy."

"If you have no further questions, I would suggest running the simulation until you feel that you are adequately prepared."

Mora piped up. "You haven't given us a timeframe. How long do we have to prepare?"

"I don't know." the Titan admitted. "The vanguard could arrive today, or it could arrive decades from now. Know, however, that when the Darkness does fall upon this galaxy, the Hive will not be alone. There are as many species serving the Darkness as there are stars, and in time I will prepare you to face them all."

With that, the Titan turned away, making his way back to the Damsel's cockpit and leaving Wrex to watch the Turians.

He had hope for these aliens, regardless of their mortal limitations. The truth of the power dichotomy of Light and Darkness was a hard one to accept, but those who saw clearly with their own eyes would never doubt their purpose again. Wrex had only witnessed but a part of that truth, and Dagger had barely just scratched the surface having met Atlas, but Atlas saw in them a piece of himself; that same burning conviction to oppose the Darkness.

"Epsilon," he called ."Get Vitellus on the line."

"Already got him on standby."

"He hasn't been waiting this whole time, has he?"

"Of course not."

Setting himself down in the pilot's chair, Atlas exhaled slowly, letting the tension drop from his shoulders.

Most Guardians would never need to take the same precautions as he, since the exhaustion of one's Light was almost always a safeguard against wanton destruction. But, for those who had lived long enough, died long enough, ignoring the problem was dangerous. The older the Guardian, the more restraint that had to be drilled into them, either by means of limiting the use of their powers or by the ritualistic binding of them.

It was never easy, coming down from the already formidable adrenaline high of battle, only to have that euphoria augmented by his Light, but the Titan had learned to endure it. It was a necessity.

"Atlas," said Vitellus, his face appearing on the main panel of the control panel. "Word is spreading quickly of Sederis' demise: A freak explosion caused by a ruptured gas pipe."

"And people are actually buying that?" the Titan muttered in disbelief.

"People will believe whatever they want to believe. For some people, that means the first thing they hear on the news. But, for others, there will be suspicion."

"Public attention to her death aside, we need to talk, Vitellus, in person. It's time for you to learn some truths."

If Atlas hadn't had his attention before...

"Rooting out the last pockets of resistance within Eclipse will take some time, but I can schedule a meeting within the next few days."

"See to it." Atlas' commanded. It was imperative that Vitellus, sooner rather than later, came to terms with the Titan's intended role for him and Eclipse in the coming war.

The thudding of heavy boots drew Atlas' attention to the person approaching from behind, the low, rumbling breaths rising and falling in sync with the footsteps signifying that it was Wrex.

"I need to go to Tuchanka." he announced, grumbling.

"You do have a plan, right?"

"It's no Salarian Solution, but I've got one."

"Sometimes the simplest of plans are the most solid. What do you have in mind?"

"Shotgun diplomacy." Wrex folded his arms over his chest. "Join and live, or fight and die."

"Well," Atlas sighed. "I'm sure that's not the worst one I've heard so far."

1.13.2156 CE. Krogan DMZ. Aralakh System. Fourth Planet.

"So this is Tuchanka." Atlas wondered aloud to himself as he stepped off the Damsel's loading ramp and onto the barren soil beneath.

All around the Titan, as far as even his enhanced vision could survey, was rock and dirt, arranged in various and strange formations, each of them doing little to add any sense of life to the bleak landscape.

In the distance, what looked to be mountains jutted up from the ground, their prominent features dominating the background. But, Atlas had the sneaking suspicion that those rocky monoliths were more than they appeared. He dialed up his visor's magnification settings. After all, normal mountains didn't have holes the size of jumpships tunneled into their sides.

The Titan knew enough from Codex Entries that the Thresher Maws on Tuchanka were entirely capable of inflicting such damage.

As for the landing zone itself there was little of import other than party of three Krogan who had come to greet Wrex.

"You appear the same since I last saw you, but changed altogether." the one in the middle said, stepping forward.

"I suppose I do." Wrex admitted. "It's good to see you, Shaman."

The Shaman simply grunted in response.

"And who is this stranger you have brought with you?" There was a curious gleam to the Krogan's gaze, and with anyone else Wrex might have attributed it to Atlas' height. But, the Shaman was a Krogan.

With a keen eye he took in the Titan's martial bearing, and made careful note of the alien's wargear, which could have been mistaken for ceremonial armor by the casual observer.

Ceremonial armor was thin, meant to be worn in a hot, stuffy room for hours at a time. The armor worn by Atlas was thick, ergonomic, and marked by notches and dents that bore testimony to the trials it had passed.

Embossed on the chestplate, spread in proud gold across the full run of the armor, was the likeness of a tree, not dissimilar to the insignias once worn by ancient Krogan warriors.

However, this stranger was no Krogan.

"This is Atlas." Wrex introduced.

"Atlas," the Shaman repeated, testing the foreign name on his tongue. "And why are you here, Atlas?"

"I'm just here to see Wrex off." The Titan replied, waving off the Shaman's implied question while voicing his intention to Wrex for the first time.

"You're not staying to see this through?" the Battlemaster exclaimed, his arms raising themselves up slightly into the air.

"I've got other business to attend to, preparations to make and leads to hunt down," Atlas explained. "Besides, I have every confidence in your ability to unify a planet of warring dinosaurs."

And he did. There was little need for Atlas to continue travelling with Wrex, especially now that his companion's mission would require a deeper understanding of Krogan culture, something that Atlas hardly knew the first thing about.

"Then I suppose this is goodbye." Wrex muttered, his voice gruffer than usual.

"For now."

"For now?"

"Haven't you heard, Wrex? There's a war coming."

2157 CE. Galactic Location Unknown. Aboard the _Quite Content Damsel_.

"Atlas, picking up unknown transmissions from the other side of the solar system, by the Relay, using Hierarchy encryption patterns."

"Can you crack it?"

"Already done."

"People really shouldn't air their dirty laundry out in the open like that."

"Especially not when that dirty laundry involves first contact with another species and a ship to ship skirmish."

"Skirmish?"

"Apparently, the Turian patrol group came across some unidentified ships trying to activate a dormant Relay. Things, escalated, from there."

"Elaborate."

"The Turians destroyed the alien battlegroup by the Relay, but one of the ships escaped."

"Sounds interesting."

"Atlas..."

"We've got nothing better to do."

"You mean aside from removing Wrang from power?"

"The Blood Pack can wait; they're not going anywhere. Besides, we already have Eclipse."

"And if we're discovered?"

"We still have Cayde's stealth drive."

"The thing that failed and nearly got us killed when we first boarded the Dreadnaught?"

"In the words of an old Exo, 'Just come back with a good story, y'hear?'"

"I'm not quite sure that Cayde is the best role model for you."

"Fair enough."

Moving his right hand to the joystick, Atlas turned the _Damsel_ around and throttled its engines, his other hand flitting over the myriad buttons and switches in preparation to jump to FTL. He would have to time it just right, activating the stealth drive just after the _Damsel_ completed its jump. Failure to do so would provoke some uninvited questions from the Turian military.

The stars, swirling and glimmering, stretched and coalesced as the jumpship accelerated into the void, the Golden Age technology in its engines ripping apart the fabric of space with its ancient power.

It was a sight that never grew old to the Titan.

It meant the promise of something new, even if that something was the next bloody battle in his war unending.

"Atlas," Epsilon warned. "I'm picking up more comms chatter, unknown encryption."

"Batarians?" That would be the only other logical explanation in the Titan's mind. Batarian pirates always did choose rather obscure places to establish their hideouts.

"Not Batarians," the Ghost denied. "Encryption levels are too complex for pirates. These newcomers are something else."

"The new species then." Atlas posited. "Retaliation?"

"It's entirely possible," came the response. "But, I can rummage through whatever the Turians have learned so far."

"Do it."

A pause.

"They're called the Systems Alliance, and they've certainly got a bone to pick with the Turians."

"Hmm."

"Our jump coordinates should put us off to the side of the battle."

"Good. It's been some time since I got to observe a space battle."

"Yes, and that's because usually you're too busy boarding the enemy's ships."

"I can't very well punch the enemy from inside my own ship."

"Obviously." Sighed Epsilon.

Fading, the iridescent blue light that had enveloped the _Damsel_ gave way to the starry void of space and the familiar comforts of that vast expanse of timeless serenity. Its cosmic beauty, marred, however, by kinetic lances and missile streaks and the metal corpses of starships venting bodies and atmosphere.

Glorious was the sight, glorious and terrifying, for it was the same destruction that the Titan had been reborn to deliver upon the Light's enemies.

It seemed to him that the Alliance vessels were shredding through the Turians this time around, their superior numbers and firepower gutting Hierarchy warships left and right. But, the birdmen were hardly submissive in their defeat. Retaliatory salvos broke shields and penetrated hulls, gouts of flame spewing forth from the wounds.

"What do you make of these strangers?" Epsilon asked as it sifted through any communique and tactical information that it could glean from the chaos of the ongoing battle.

"They're quite advanced for a race that hasn't joined the galactic community." the Titan surmised.

"Maybe they found a Prothean cache, like the Asari did." Despite the highly secretive nature of that knowledge, there was little anyone could do to hide information from the curiosity of a Ghost.

"It's entirely possible," Atlas agreed. "Any idea what they are?"

"Oh," the Ghost muttered, pausing. "That's odd."

"What is it?" The tone in his companion's voice worried the Guardian.

"I broke through the encryptions."

The Titan waited patiently.

"And they're in English."

Silence followed, for the Titan could not possibly find the words to voice his surprise and disbelief.

The implications, the ramifications.

These human vessels were not of the Humanity that Atlas knew, for there was no Light he could feel glowing in that fleet. Even the most mundane of mortals residing in the Last City had been exposed to the Light in some form, and such exposure clung, however miniscule, indefinitely to their souls. Furthermore, most if not all ships that went beyond the City's airspace were those belonging to the Guardians.

"Are you sure?" The Titan needed to be completely certain.

"I just finished decrypting their databases," Epsilon began. "And their homeworld is Earth."

"Earth? You mean, a planet like Earth?"

"No, Atlas, it's the exact same planet as our Earth. The same land masses, the same bodies of water..."

The Guardian knew now that he was well and truly alone in this place, wherever here actually was. Toland and Osiris had both hypothesized the existence of multiple, or even parallel universes, but Atlas had never expected to end up in one.

For the past year he had held onto the hope that he might one day receive the reinforcements needed to defend this galaxy from the Darkness, but now it looked like he would bear his burden alone, for the Humans of this universe were not his. That didn't mean that he felt no connection, no yearning to be among his own kind once more, but he had a mission to uphold. The other races of this universe would need his protection equally; he couldn't afford to favor Humanity.

"Bug and monitor their comms," ordered Atlas. "We're not getting involved. Keep us cloaked."

"Atlas!" The Ghost's exclamation was a mix of surprise and outrage.

"We can't help them."

"Of course we can. You're you!"

"If I do do something here then we risk discovery," the Titan explained, sighing. "We can't risk that."

"We can't just sit here and do nothing either!"

"Our oaths to serve the Light do not bind us to the sole protection of the human race. There's a bigger picture here, Epsilon. Better to see the destruction of a single species than lose an entire galaxy to the Enemy."

"I know, Atlas, I know. That doesn't mean I like it."

"Neither do I," Atlas agreed. "But, who knows? Maybe these humans will surprise us."

"Yes, well, if they're anything like you, there's a good chance of that."

Beyond the interior of the cockpit, the battle in the void was already beginning to wrap up, the corpses of both human and turian sailors floating among the debris. Atlas had seen similar destruction at the outer edges of the Sol System, among the ship graveyard that was the Reef.

The Alliance ships were withdrawing now, headed for the Relay from which they came. Atlas had half a mind to follow them, to see this strange humanity with his own eyes. Or even to simply be among humans again. But, with the newfound knowledge that he was alone in this universe, preparing his mercenary legions was of the utmost importance.

Eclipse had been expanding ever since Vitellus took leadership from Sederis, their numbers swelling as they absorbed many of the smaller mercenary groups across the Terminus Systems. There had been a few eyebrows raised at that particular business venture, but even Council Spectres knew better than to stick their noses in the business of an organization that could give the Hierarchy military a run for their money.

Wrex, of course, was raising even more eyebrows than any mercenary army could. The reunification of the Krogan race was more than a threat to the Citadel Council; it was a potential disaster, so much so that it a Spectre had been sent to put an end to the Battlemaster's efforts. Needless to say, the Council was down an operative, courtesy of Junius and his squad.

Atlas had set his pieces, was amassing his armies, would recruit new ones.

It was all he could do.

2170 CE. Attican Traverse. Mindoir.

"Listen closely, child. This is the part of the story that you do not want to miss." The child, if one could call the twelve year old that after recent events, leaned forward in her seated position, her eyes focused solely on the storyteller.

"Saint-14 could feel his Light about to fail him after the Devil Kell's brutal onslaught, and the oil and coolant fluids that ran down his armor, his lifeblood."

The child's face was caught between awe and fear, for the hero had come so far and overcome such obstacles that he could not possibly fail now. As the storyteller paused, the child poked his leg impatiently.

"And so," the storyteller went on, suppressing a chuckle at his lone audience member's antics. "The Titan gathered his strength for one last blow, his damaged servos and wounded chassis raging in protest, and with a single strike of his helm he laid low the Devil Kell."

"Is that the end?" The child asked, her dubious expression said it all. She was unimpressed by the storyteller's anecdotal tale of Saint-14 and his legendary crusade against the Fallen House of Devils.

"Of course that's not the end, child. A Guardian's service is eternal, until the day they must die their true death."

"That sounds horrible!"

"Oh, it's not so bad. If one has the purpose and the friends to see their journey through, it's not at too unpleasant at all."

"But, where are your friends?"

"Well, my closest friend is constantly by my side, and he has never failed me even under the direst of circumstances."

"Where is he?" The girl put her hands on her hips and pouted.

"He lives in my backpack, but he's a bit shy of strangers."

"Asshole." Epsilon's grumbled over the comms.

"Can I meet him?" Piped the child, not able to hear the Ghost's mutterings.

"This room's a bit too crowded for my liking, Atlas." Epsilon commented.

Indeed, the room was packed with the huddled forms of blood and soot covered refugees, their faces weary and downcast. Atlas had come upon them less than twenty four hours ago while tracking the movements of a Batarian slaver group infamous for their brutal raids into Alliance-held space. With the Council unwilling to aid the fledgling galactic power, the Alliance had turned to less than legal sources for help.

The Titan's hunt for the slaver group had led him here, to the agri world of Mindoir.

"Another time, perhaps," Atlas offered apologetically. "Most of those present wouldn't take too kindly to his presence."

With those words, Atlas rose from his kneeling position and drew himself to his full height, stretching and cracking his back. At over two meters tall, his head was on the precipice of colliding with the ceiling of the bomb shelter, into which he had corralled the refugees for safety. The child looked up at him expectantly, her bright, green eyes alight with wonder. Under normal circumstances, Atlas would have assigned his Eclipse mercenaries to the Mindoir contract. But, this girl changed everything.

"Walk in the Light, Jane Shepard."

Many pairs of eyes turned themselves to the Titan, wondering what the stranger would do next. Certainly, none of them had any real idea of who this warrior was, or from where he had come, but all of them knew that he was their last, best hope for survival. He had come to them amidst a storm of fire and blood, gunning down slavers by the droves and breaking them with his bare hands when his weapons overheated. From a lifetime of servitude had he spared the colonists of Mindoir, but his fight was not done yet, for the remaining Batarians had managed to request aid from their forces in orbit. Now they sat in this bunker, listening to the sounds of cutting torches against the reinforced doors at the entrance.

"Attention, everyone!" Atlas called, his voice carrying easily through the silence of the room. "The Batarians will breach the doors soon, and when they do I need you all to stay back and stay in cover."

"What are you going to do?" One of the colonists asked.

"I'm going to kill them." With those words, the Titan made his way to the front of the room. Those in his way cleared a straight path for him as he went. While Atlas had no thought-out plan for the coming battle, he knew was that so long as the colonists remained in the bunker they would be safe, both from the slavers and from him.

Unless he desired to hunt down small pockets of organized resistance over the course of the next few days, Atlas would have to wipe out the invaders in one, overwhelming assault. He would deal with these slavers in the same way that he had learned to deal with Fallen raiders: Cut off the head and body slinks away. After that, make a show of superior force and send the rest scurrying back to their ships. Simple in theory, and with enough practice, relatively simple in execution.

"Corporal," Atlas hailed, calling to him the attention of one of the surviving Alliance Marines. "I need you Marines to stay here and guard the colonists. Nothing gets through those doors."

"Of course, sir." The Marine affirmed, momentarily forgetting the he was not actually under the Titan's command, and that he was in no way obligated to address the Titan with the honorific.

The screeching of steel grew ever louder, and Atlas could see orange sparks leaping from the door. Battle would be joined soon, and the Titan felt his blood heating with anticipation. Though a Batarian soldier would never surpass a Fallen warrior in terms of his sheer martial prowess, they were fundamentally the same, and the Titan held them both with the same contemptuous gaze. .

"Atlas, they're about to break through." Epsilon warned. Indeed, the sizzling and melting of metal was beginning to overlap with the slavers' shouts. The harsh, guttural, grinding nature of their language was apparent even though it had been filtered through the Titan's translation technology, and though it was lacking in the incomprehensible, insectoid clicks customary to Eliksni, Atlas found it distasteful all the same.

"Corporal, stand back," the Titan ordered, placing himself at the bottom of the ramp leading up to the entryway.

"Best of luck to you, sir."

"There's no such thing as luck; only stupidly good timing." Corrected Atlas as he unslung the collapsed weapon on his back, unfolding it with the click of a button. Servos and drivers whirred to life as the gun expanded to its full length, the mass accelerator within the weapon's frame humming quietly. Nearly a meter and a half in length, the rifle in his hands was more similar to the kind of weapon one would expect to find mounted to the top of an armored vehicle than a conventional infantry weapon. Where most weapons were compact and lightweight, this weapon was bulky and heavy, and would have handled in an unwieldy fashion in the hands of anyone other than Atlas.

The glowing trail of sparks and molten metal was descending ever closer to the final deadbolt holding the bottom of the reinforced doors in place. Moving up the ramp with purposeful strides, the Titan approached the doors. With a kick, he knocked them flying off of their hinges, colliding with the Batarians on the other side and eliciting a chorus of surprise.

Stepping forward and marching through the dust cloud that his attack had raised, Atlas shouldered his weapon and laid into the slavers gathered outside. They were hiding in cover behind the three IFVs that they had used to hunt down fleeing colonists, and a few were manning the mounted guns on their vehicles. Atlas knew that if he didn't take the stationary weapons out first he would be at risk of serious injury.

Bringing his machine gun to bear, Atlas fired a series of short bursts into the vehicles, volleys of hypersonic rounds ripping through the thin armor and tearing apart the insides. The Batarians manning the guns wailed cries of distress as the metal hulls of their vehicles were ripped to shreds. The others scattered like roaches, fleeing from cover that had only moments ago offered them protection from the Titan. Atlas turned his fire on them next.

There was little cover that those fleeing could seek, for the road behind their now destroyed vehicles was empty. They had only a few, brief moments left to live as Atlas swept a wide, deadly arc in front of him, mowing them down even as they turned their backs to him. The projectiles from his weapon cut vapor trails through the air as they sped towards their targets, each round no larger than a grain of sand, but the results were devastating.

Bodies were torn limb from limb as the storm of mass accelerated rounds reached their targets. Some of the more unfortunate ones were bisected at the hip, the stumps of their lower bodies still hobbling about in confusion, while others' heads simply disappeared in showers of red mist. The Titan however, paid little attention to the carnage he was orchestrating and instead focused on the raw math behind his task. It all factored into one big equation; rounds expended, targets remaining, target groupings, heat levels, possible cover, avenues of escape. In Guardian fireteams it was the duty of the squad's heavy gunner to either suppress an engaging force or to mow down masses of targets in the open. This situation fell into the latter part of those duties.

Each burst of rounds was either fired either with lethal effect, or to herd and corral the Batarians into tighter clusters, turning them into larger targets. Standing out in the open, his mind solely focused on the fleeing enemy, it took Atlas a moment to notice that a few of the Batarians had turned around and were returning fire, for they had realized that they were only facing one man. Their futile attempts were stopped dead by the Titan's shields, which flared orange as they destroyed the incoming mass accelerated rounds.

Although the Batarians' efforts to kill the Titan failed, their miserable attempts certainly caught his notice. Atlas made short work of them. Barrel smoking, he surveyed the carnage before him, the broken bodies and mangled, fatal cries. It was over, for now.

Dropping to one knee, the Titan depressed a button on the side of his weapon and held it upright with its butt resting on the ground. Immediately the surrounding grass and shrubbery was vaporized as a wave of boiling heat rushed forth, leaving only dirt in its wake. Warning lights blared red in Atlas' visor, and the Titan coughed awkwardly as his armor's internal temperature grew uncomfortably warm.

"I told you that the rapid heat venting wasn't working properly."

"It does exactly what you designed it to do."

"I did not design it to completely vaporize everything in a two meter radius!"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"That's besides the point..."

"Hey!"

"What if your squadmates were sitting in cover next to you and you needed to vent your weapon?"

"Fine, Epsilon, but for now let's consider this one a functional prototype."

"We may need to correct your definition of 'functional'."

Collapsing and stowing the machine gun on his back, Atlas spun up his omnitool and accessed the _Damsel's_ cargo manifest, searching through the logs until he found what he was looking for.

"Epsilon, transmat down the area denial turrets. It's going to be another long day."

As the little Ghost set about bringing the Damsel back into transmat range, Atlas marched over to one of the wrecked IFVs and gripped it by two of the massive holes that he had shot through the hull. Heaving and pulling with his strength, the Titan pulled the several ton vehicle towards the ruined doors of the bunker. When Atlas himself had nearly backed into the refuge, he moved around to the other side and with a might kick wedged the machinery into the empty space.

Alarmed cries could be heard from within the bunker.

"Everything's quite alright!. Just building a makeshift door!" Atlas shouted. Whether or not his announcement had actually calmed any of the colonists was uncertain.

Next, the Titan began fortifying his position, moving the other two destroyed IFVs so that from a bird's eye view they slanted towards each other in the shape of a broken arrow, With that done, he went about gathering any and all explosives from the Batarians littering the ground. Frag grenades, thermal grenades, flash grenades, arc grenades. At least the slavers had had the decency to come bearing gifts.

"Atlas!"

"Yes?"

"One of the slavers was able to call for backup. The rest of the Batarians planetside are converging on our location."

"ETA?"

"Ten minutes."

"Do those area denial turrets have rocket pods?"

"They do, but we don't have enough rockets to use throughout the entire assault."

"We'll just have to make do then."

Placing his policed ordinance on the ground in front of him, Atlas began the careful process of rewiring and jury rigging the grenades, linking them to his omnitool. He tossed them into the field when he was done. There was little in the way of actual cover besides the IFVs, and the Titan knew that the slavers would not advance without adequate covering fire, most likely in the form of vehicle mounted turrets.

The three area denial turrets were groundside now, with the transmat having been completed by Epsilon. They sat in boxy, metal crates on the ground, the logo of some arms manufacturer stamped on the containers. Atlas cared little about who had built these weapons, only that they fulfilled their function. Kneeling down the Titan opened the crates, revealing the gunmetal gray platforms in their collapsed forms, and placed them atop the vehicle carcasses. With a command from his omnitool he activated them, gun barrels and target tracking systems springing to life. Attached to each of the three turrets was a power generator, protected by a titanium casing and its own, separate kinetic barrier.

Atlas took note of the three new icons that had recently appeared at the top right of his HUD, indicating the current status of the turrets. They would be more than adequate in dealing with any Batarian dropships or in-atmo fighters. That left him able to focus solely on the ground elements.

Removing his helmet and mag-clamping it to his belt, Atlas removed a pack of brown nutrient paste from an armored pocket and wolfed down its contents, ripping apart the edible packaging with his teeth and devouring that too. His stomach rumbled in approval. The Titan had largely been forced to ignore thirst and hunger for the past twenty-four hours. Being constantly occupied either by combat or by refugees had distracted him from his own needs.

"Epsilon," Atlas called when he had finished his nutrient paste. "ETA?"

"Two minutes. You should be able to see them in a few seconds." The Ghost responded, hovering above his shoulder.

"Do what you can to enhance the turrets' targeting systems. The fewer troops they can land the better."

"I'm on it."

Rising to his feet, the Titan looked to the horizon, his visor's optics zooming in to reveal the blurry outlines of Batarian dropships growing ever clearer as they neared in distance. He counted twenty of them in total. Assuming that each of the craft was flying with a full troop bay that would make around two hundred infantry in the first wave.

"Atlas, the ships will be in range of the turrets in thirty seconds."

Atlas nodded silently, his eyes fixated on the sky. Were the colonists not scant meters behind him, now protected only by the makeshift door he had set up, the Guardian would set the heavens alight with fiery storms and beat a thunderous clamor with his Light, casting the attackers down to the ground in plumes of smoke. Oh, how he missed the days of old.

Streaks of smoke and the afterimages of mass accelerated rounds laced the night sky in a simulacrum of woven art, a testament to the battle raging on the surface of Mindoir. The already blood soaked ground had drunk more than its fill of Batarian lifeblood, and cries both furious and terrified had been raised to the heavens in desperation. In the middle of it all, standing alone amidst the death and carnage, was Atlas. The barrels of his gun glowed hot, having felled countless dozens of slavers during the course of the battle.

Crouched on one knee in between the two IFVs that had been repurposed as cover, the Titan directed his firepower downrange at the advancing Batarians, turning them into a thick fog of sanguine mist. The ammo mods installed in his weapon belched forth explosive fireballs that consumed targets whole when they detonated. Those that survived the blasts, left too weak to haul themselves to cover, were gunned down when the Titan swept over their positions again.

Beside him, two of the turrets were still firing, steam rolling off their barrels. The rocket pods had run dry long ago, taking down nearly a third of the dropships and causing the rest to withdraw to a safe distance to land troops. Atlas had defeated those from the initial wave, had broken their bodies as they hurled themselves against the unbreakable defense that was the Titan's wall of firepower. They hadn't even made it to the grenade traps.

Currently, the Titan was occupied with engaging the main bulk of the Batarians on the planet, who had arrived via ground transport and with overwhelming firepower. Without the use of his Light or his infused weapons aboard the _Damsel's_ armory, Atlas had been hard pressed to hold back the waves of alien bodies. Mass accelerated weapons overheated far too often for his liking. The turrets were effectively covering his blind spots, mowing down Batarians who tried to close on the Titan's position when his attention became too focused on a single spot. One of the turrets had been destroyed already, taken out by a rocket launcher, and the Batarian offensive had taken advantage of the sudden breach to close in on him. Their corpses lay scattered around him.

Firing his machine gun in long, thundering bursts, Atlas cut down entire squads as they, perhaps spying some phantom of an opportunity, exited cover and rushed him. The ones who made it farther than their fallen brethren soon found themselves in a minefield, disappearing in an explosion of fire or ice.

The battle had gone on like this for hours, the slavers too stupid to realize that their prize was out of reach, while the Titan refused to budge. Then Atlas heard them, The screams. Cries of excruciating pain and utter despair, so terrible that it was as if they had been wrung from the wretched lips of the eternally condemned, rose up from the fringes of the battle behind the Batarians' main forces. They were the cries of those who, in their final moments, had been cursed to behold a fate impossibly more terrifying than death. The Guardian felt it then too, that subtle tugging at his Light, like a sixth sense.

"Epsilon!"

"Long range sensors are being jammed. Our connection to the _Damsel_ is still up."

"Do it."

"Transmatting now."

Below and behind them, within the recesses of the bunker, a clear, blue light engulfed Jane Shepard, sparing her the soon-to-be fate of the other colonists. Before this most recent development, the Titan would have done everything in his power to save these helpless people, but now his priorities had shifted.

"Is the child clear?"

"She's clear, Atlas."

Looking behind him, an unreadable expression on his face, he whispered, "Forgive me."

The Titan cast off the bindings from his Light, allowing its power to surge forth from his soul. Great swathes of Solar flames rolled off his armor in tumultuous waves, immolating the air around him and rendering the ground barren. Plants and insects turned to ash. Calling forth the full extent of his powers, Atlas tossed his weapon aside and called forth the Hammer of Sol, burning with the fury of a thousand suns. His true presence would mark the world of Mindoir for eternity, until the cosmos returned to nothingness and time itself ended.

The turrets, built to withstand war and sunder, withered and melted under the weight of the Titan's full aura and were reduced to their barest functions.

Atlas' mind, for the first time since he had fought Sederis on Omega, was clear. No longer did his Light claw at the corners of his mind for freedom. No. Now his Light howled in glee, for it had caught the scent of its Enemy. His own nerves tingled similarly with anticipation.

The screams stopped.

Atlas tensed.

Moving forward, the Titan put himself beyond his makeshift cover; it would have proven useless anyways. Standing proud and drawing himself to his full height, the Guardian raised his challenge to whatever creature stalked that stygian night.

All he could hear was his own breathing and the reassuring roar of his Light. Nothing stirred now on the surface of Mindoir. It was as if the planet itself held bated breath in trembling anticipation.

Out of the darkness, faster than mortal eyes could track, came a bolt of sickly green that sang of the Titan's doom. Despite the speed of the attack, Atlas was able to bring the Hammer of Sol up, its Solar Light flaring harshly with the impact. The Titan peered out into the unnatural shroud of fog that had settled over the battlefield, but visibility was low. His Light illuminated a circle around him, casting flickering shadows over the dead.

"Epsilon," he whispered. "Where?'

"I can't trace it."

"Flush him out."

"On it."

At the Ghost's command, the two remaining turrets opened up, peppering everything and anything that so much as appeared to twitch. Then they caught the scent, a shifting of movement, a silhouette rolling out of danger. Soil and corpses were ground up by the ceaseless cannonade of automatic fire that trailed the shadowy figure. In their damaged state the turrets were unable to properly track their target, and the roar of gunfire stopped when the sentry guns overheated, their last breaths exhaled.

Wasting no time Atlas rushed forwards, bearing down on his attacker like hammer on anvil. Caught of guard and unprepared for the Titan's sudden offensive, the thing was only just able to sidestep his flying knee. It wasn't so lucky in avoiding the gauntleted fist that followed.

The force of the blow sent the creature reeling, but it quickly recovered its guard and turned to face him. It was a biped, that much was clear to Atlas, and the general shape of its body was humanoid. All of it covered in black armor of alien yet familiar texture and material, closer to an insect's carapace than anything else. The lower half of its face was shrouded by a veil of swirling shadows, but he could see its eyes just fine. They were pure black, abyssal outlines silhouetted on an empty canvas of a face.

"Leave now, Lightbearer." It rasped. "Give us the girl and your transgressions may be forgiven."

Atlas paused, not quite sure that he had heard it the thing correctly. "Are you trying to barter with me?"

"Not barter," it explained, half-raising the pistol in its hand. "You have no choice. Give me the girl, or die."

"No," ended Atlas, the starfire in his eyes roaring with brilliant fury. "Back to the Darkness with you."

"The Darkness does not hold me!" The exclamation carried a hint of indignance in its alien tones.

A blade, long and serrated, too fast to black, and it was all Atlas could do to lean back. The edge slashed across the Titan's chestplate, gouging and rending the armor and leaving a shallow groove, but failing to penetrate fully. Black, bubbling foam rose from the cut, hissing and sizzling as it dripped down Atlas' torso, burning away the gold paint, but leaving the armor untouched. When the alien liquid fell to the ground it boiled away the grass and dirt. A foul smell rose from the aftermath, rot and decay entering the air.

Atlas wasted no time in leaping away and out of the deadly weapon's reach. Warily, he looked down, all the while keeping his opponent in his peripheries. The black acid that had erupted from the cut, though not harmful to his armor, would certainly eat through his flesh with rapid ease. There were certainly less painful ways to die than dissolution by acid.

Carefully now, he crept towards his opponent, feet shuffling forward through the soft soil, the edges of his toes pushing mounds of dirt up in tiny mounds. The measured breaths of the combatants hummed, pulsating in the still air. That this creature was faster than him was certain, and the Hammer of Sol was by no means a quick weapon, even when wielded by Atlas' deft hand.

One of the creature's hands held the vicious blade dripping with acid, the other one obscured behind its back. The way that it moved, the way that it balanced, bobbing to and fro, darting back and forth, all while keeping a steady center of gravity, reminded Atlas of a Hunter. A cursed, miserable caricature of one to be sure, but familiar nonetheless.

Atlas knew that his speed would not match that of his adversary's, but he did stand a full head and a half taller than it. The Hammer of Sol went forth, blazing a trail of fire along its ruinous path, swinging in a high, horizontal arc. A human would not have had the reactions to evade the blow, let alone dash under it, and the shadow came up below the Titan's guard, blade poised to deliver a fatal blow. But all the creature met with its advance was the cold, unforgiving metal of Atlas' knee.

With a bone crunching snap-hiss of pain, the thing reeled away cradling its jaw and glared. The other hand came out from behind it's back, this one holding a long whip, barbed across its lash, with spiky thorns growing all along its circumference. Atlas eyed the new weapon warily, a grim resolve falling over him as he tracked the whip's movements, like a snake circling its head, poised to strike.

The whip sprang forward, spewing poison from its venomous maw. Atlas swayed backwards, moving one foot back to steady himself as he just barely retreated out of the attack's reach. With a malicious cackle of glee, the creature continued its unrelenting assault, casting its barbed lash at the Titan over and over again. Every time he tried to close the gap another blow forced him away, out of his Hammer's range. Despite the Guardian's superhuman reflexes, many of the strikes were still able to connect, and the thorns pricked painful wounds into his flesh, infecting him with deadly toxins.

He would have died there, potent venom coursing through his veins, had his soul not been unshackled. The Light in his body fought the dark poison blow for blow, but the Titan still felt the effects. The speed of his reactions was falling ever lower, and if he failed to move the fight back onto favorable ground he would die a slow and agonizing death. Atlas knew what he had to do, steeled it in his mind and braced his body for what was to come.

The lash struck once more, thorns puncturing his side and burying themselves in his flesh. This time, however, when the creature attempted to retract its weapon, Atlas' hand clamped down on the barbs, intentionally lodging them in his palm. With a tug, he yanked his dumbfounded opponent towards him, the sudden pull causing it to stumble and falter.

Now, Atlas could close the distance. Flesh and Light coalesced as his body erupted towards the enemy, a canyon of fire blazing the ground behind him, and launched an uppercut with the Hammer of Sol. The creature's power, though terrible enough to plunge the world of Mindoir into Darkness, was not enough to shield itself from the Titan.

An explosive flash of sunfire preluded the monster's flight, penetrating the dense shadows that surrounded the combatants. The force of impact was great enough to send the Hunter caricature hurling, and it did so enveloped in a cocoon of flames that burned away at its carapace armor. Staggering, wobbling on blighted legs that dripped with blood and venom, Atlas breathed a sigh of relief and dropped to his knees. On the hand with which he had grabbed the whip he could not feel his fingers, first the tips, then down to the knuckles, and eventually to his wrists.

"Epsilon," he wheezed. "Transmat!"

Even as the blue light surrounded him and lifted him to safety, Atlas felt a cold dread in the pit of his stomach that settled there like a spear of ice. Whatever that Dark entity was, wherever it hailed from, he knew that it was not dead. No great weight was lifted from his shoulders when he had struck that devastating blow, and it made Atlas wonder what Dark patrons had given the creature such unholy powers as to rival the Titan's own.

 **So, it's been more than a while. To say the least, it's been a rough few months for me with college and family problems and breaking up with my girlfriend, but I've managed to finish up this chapter. Creative writing has always been something that's kept me focused, and I've been neglecting it for a while now. I think it's high time that I start working on this story again more frequently. I kind of felt that the Tuchanka scene was a bit short, and First Contact as well, but in terms of what they mean to Atlas' storyline I don't think that they're as significant as I thought they would be when I wrote them. For reference, those two scenes are a few months old by now, while the Mindoir scene is much more recent.**

 **For those of you who are wondering what/who the creature is, if you know anything about Destiny's lore then you'll probably figure it out.**

 **As always feel free to tell me whatever you want to tell me, whether it be harsh criticisms or just some small talk over questions. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all in the next chapter.**


End file.
